


Song of Myself

by gemjam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-07 08:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 45,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12837648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: Stiles tries to rebuild after the Nogitsune and work out what's left of him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I only just started watching the show and when I got to the end of season 3 I had to stop watching and write this, so I have only the vaguest idea of what happens from season 4 onwards.
> 
> Starts in the aftermath of Stiles passing out at the school and the timeline is played around with a little after that.
> 
> The fic is completed and ready to post, I've just broken it up into more digestible chunks because it got _long_.
> 
> \--
> 
> Title from the Walt Whitman poem that includes the famous lines:  
>  _Do I contradict myself?_  
>  Very well then I contradict myself,  
> (I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Stiles stares at the drip feeding into his arm and it makes him feel squeamish. His whole body makes him feel squeamish. He tries to fight back the shudder. Every part of him aches, the tiniest movement making him feel like he’s going to shatter. Shatter like that other him did. He swallows down the bile that rises in his throat and realises that he hasn’t eaten anything. He doesn’t say it out loud. He doesn’t think he could stomach food right now.

He looks at his dad, at the bandage on his arm, and the guilt rolls over him afresh. He can’t fight back the images, all the things he watched himself do. The tears roll down his cheeks and he wipes them urgently away like he doesn’t deserve to feel sorry for himself.

“Dad,” he says.

Stilinski looks over at him, blinking as though he’s trying to pull himself out of a fog. He’s been through so much in these last few days too, probably hasn’t been sleeping, maybe has been drinking. It all piles up on Stiles, makes it hard to breathe. He should send him home. He should let him just get out of here, give him a break. He’s not ready for the next yet though.

“I want to have the scan again.”

Stilinski sighs, his head tilting sideways like he can’t hold it up. “Stiles, you’re fine,” he insists. “That was a trick, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Probably,” Stiles agrees. “But that means we never got to see my real scan. Which means we don’t know.”

“We know,” Stilinski insists.

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “I want to take the scan again. Please. I won’t be able to get it out of my head until I see it.”

“Okay,” Stilinski says, sagging with resignation. “If it’ll make you feel better.”

Stiles nods his head, gearing himself up to keep going. “And I want to get a psych evaluation.”

Stilinski look appalled, like Stiles just asked to borrow his gun. “Stiles, there is nothing wrong with you,” he says firmly, an edge of anger to his voice, but it’s probably just exhaustion and frustration and maybe a bit of desperation.

“I’m scared,” Stiles admits, his body shaking, hurting all over. “I’m scared of what I’m capable of, what I might do.”

“That wasn’t you,” Stilinski says, leaning in closer to the bed, reaching out and holding Stiles’ hand in his own. He feels so warm, so comforting, but it’s not enough to reach deep down inside to the part that still feels dead.

“It felt like me,” he says. “That was my body. I have memories of myself doing it.”

“It wasn’t you,” Stilinski says again. “None of this was your fault, Stiles. None of it. You fought it as hard as you could.”

Stiles stares down at his dad’s hand on his own. “I don’t know how much of it was me. Just because I got possessed by some spirit, that doesn’t mean I didn’t lose my mind, that I haven’t lost my mind. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” He looks up at Stilinski. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Not again.”

“You won’t,” Stilinski tells him, squeezing his hand.

“Please,” Stiles begs. “I need to make sure.”

“Okay,” Stilinski relents. “Whatever you need to do.”

Stiles’ hand suddenly clenches with fear. “But not Eichen House,” he says, the words rushing together. “I don’t want to go back there. Please don’t make me go back there. I can’t. I can’t do that.”

“It’s okay,” Stilinski assures him. “You don’t have to. I don’t want you back there either. I never wanted you there in the first place.”

“Is there someone here?” Stiles asks. “Someone I can talk to?”

“I’ll ask Melissa about it, I’m sure she can help us out,” Stilinski tells him. “But you know, this isn’t the easy solution. There’s going to be a lot of things you can’t say. It might just make it harder.”

“There’s plenty of things I can say,” Stiles responds. “You have a list of them in your notebook, right?”

Stilinski’s eyes flick away, looking guilty. “Those were symptoms of the possession,” he says. “Nothing more.”

“Well let’s make sure,” Stiles tells him.

Once his IV’s finished and Melissa is happy that his hydration and blood sugar levels are looking a little more healthy, they let him go for the scan. He gets a chill as he walks into the room and he tells himself it’s just this stupid robe, or maybe the fact that he hasn’t been warm since the Nogitsune left him, like maybe it took a part of him with it. A good part. He stares down the machine, remembering the clanking, the disorientation, and he wants to turn around and run. His dad puts a hand on his shoulder and he jumps, an audible gasp escaping his lips. He turns, faking a smile that Stilinski clearly doesn’t buy.

“Well, you know how this works,” the technician says. “Do you want me to go over anything again?”

Stiles shakes his head, looking at the machine. “I might take those headphones this time though.”

“Good choice,” the technician agrees.

They get him settled on the bed and Stilinski touches his arm, looking down at him. “I’m just on the other side of that glass.”

Stiles nods his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. That didn’t do him any good last time. As he starts to move inside the machine he closes his eyes, listening to the music and forcing himself to take deep breaths. The technician talks him through it and then he hears it, dulled by the music, but every bang still feels like it’s shattering his bones. He wonders if this is how Scott and Lydia go through life, being able to hear everything, being able to feel it. He wonders how they stand it.

He tries to use the songs to time how long he’s in there but he always loses concentration before they get to the end. That’s just sleep deprivation, it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with him. If he really believed that, he wouldn’t be lying here again though. He concentrates on breathing, on staying calm, and it takes up every last bit of energy he has. By the time he comes out he can barely stand but he tries not to let it show. He heads through to meet the technician and his dad, not daring to look at the screen.

“Everything looks normal and healthy,” the technician announces, gesturing to the scans. “The power surge last time must have caused a malfunction. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with this one.”

Stiles dares himself to look at it, as though it might disappear if he witnesses it. “Are you sure?” he asks the technician, his whole body shaking. “Are you… Are you really, really sure?”

“I’m sure,” the technician assures him.

The relief floods through Stiles with a sob, tears streaming down his face as he feels himself buckle. It doesn’t mean he’s sane, but at least he doesn’t have _that_. His dad catches him, holding him close as he cries like a little boy.

“I told you,” Stilinski says firmly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Stiles forces a smile, wiping at his face as he takes his own weight again. “I guess we’ll see.” He looks down at himself. “Can I put some pants on before I meet the psychiatrist?”

Stilinski considers him. “That might be a good idea.”

Stiles gets dressed back in his hospital room, collecting up his things. If this goes well, he’ll be able to go straight home. He knows how big a risk it is though. He might end up back at Eichen House or maybe somewhere even worse. If it means everyone else will be safe, it’s a sacrifice worth making. He’s the last person that deserves a happy ending right now.

He waits with his dad outside the psychiatrist’s office, the two of them silent. There’s no words for this. Breathing in and out feels like such a chore and so Stiles concentrates all of his energy on that. It’s not just an instinctive survival mechanism, it can be voluntary, and that fact gives him a measure of control. He’s making this happen. He’s in charge of this flesh and blood and bones that he lives in.

“Hey.”

Stiles looks up to see Melissa smiling down at him. He smiles back. That’s voluntary too. It hurts as much as each breath does.

“How are you feeling?” she asks gently.

“I’m okay,” he responds.

She looks like she doesn’t believe him but she doesn’t push the issue, turns to his dad instead. “How about you?” she asks, nodding to his arm.

“I’m fine,” Stilinski says confidently. “I’ve got my kid back.”

Stiles looks away down the corridor to the closed door and he hopes that it’s true. He hopes for all of their sakes. He’s always felt like something his dad has to worry about, getting into trouble, being a pain in his ass. Introducing him to this supernatural world was bad enough. He can’t even fathom how much worse it’s been these last few weeks, Stiles slipping away from him. After that he’d have nothing left. He blinks back the tears, looking down at his hands in his lap.

“You make sure you get some rest when you get home,” Melissa tells him.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees weakly. The thought of sleep still terrifies him.

“I mean it,” Melissa says, taking on that mom tone. “I doubt Nogitsunes are very good at looking after their hosts. Look after yourself.”

The image unsettles Stiles. He feels more like the parasite than the host. “I’m working on it,” he assures her. He glances at the door again before looking up at her. “How’s Scott?”

“He’s… getting through it,” Melissa responds. “It’ll take a while. Getting the win over the Nogitsune helped.”

“I should go see him,” Stiles says, imagining Scott home alone while his mom is here with his undeserving best friend. Sure, it’s her job, but that doesn’t make Stiles feel any better about it. Just one more drop of guilt to drown him. The image of Scott on the ground, Allison in his arms, invades Stiles’ mind and he can’t make it go away. His whole body goes hot, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. “I shouldn’t go,” he says, shaking his head. “I should leave him alone. He wouldn’t want to see me.”

“He would,” Melissa says firmly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “When you’ve gotten some rest.”

“Right,” Stiles mumbles. He scrubs his hands over his face, not sure what’s sweat and what’s tears.

Melissa leans down, placing a kiss on the top of his head. “I’ll see you guys later.” She looks at Stilinski. “Maybe I’ll bring you a casserole.”

“I think you have enough going on,” Stilinski responds.

“It’s a casserole,” Melissa shrugs as she steps away. “It’s easy.”

Stiles sits back in his chair with a sigh, remembering that he’s supposed to be breathing. He stares at the blank wall opposite. In and out.

“I think we just became _those_ guys,” Stilinski says.

Stiles looks at him. “Huh?”

“The hopeless guys whose kindly neighbours bring them casseroles,” Stilinski says.

“Oh,” Stiles says, looking back at the wall. “Those guys.”

“Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles looks up at the door, his stomach flipping over as the doctor looks expectantly at him.

“You sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Stilinski asks.

“I got this,” Stiles assures him, trying to sound convincing. This is what he asked for. This is what everyone else deserves.

It’s easy enough to miss out the possession and still have plenty to talk about. Everything he told Melissa about, everything his dad took note of, the panic attacks and the sleepwalking and the nightmares and the hallucinations, it all feels so real to him, constantly on the cusp of taking him over, and if they didn’t leave with the Nogitsune then maybe they belong to Stiles.

He leaves with a couple of bottles of pills and the advice to lay off the Adderall for a while, let his body even out. He nods, staring at the doctor, still not quite believing that he’s letting him go. When he doesn’t produce a straightjacket, Stiles gets to his feet, clutching the pill bottles in his hands. He’s not considered a danger to himself or anyone else. He tries to take comfort in that fact but it’s going to take a little more than that before he trusts himself.

“Anxiety medication,” he tells his dad, holding the bottle up. “And sleeping pills.”

Stilinski smiles at him, clearly relieved. “Let’s get you home.”

They stop for pizza on the way, so maybe they really are those guys. Stiles stays in the car, curled up in the passenger seat while his dad goes in to collect it. He shakes one of the anxiety pills out, swallowing it dry and closing his eyes, imagining it might actually be strong enough to take this all away.

When they get home, Stilinski grabs some plates and they sit down in front of the TV. Stiles is glad for the informality of it. He couldn’t stand sitting across from his dad right now, trying to avoid eye contact through the inevitable awkward silence.

Stilinski opens up the pizza and it’s all Stiles’ favourite toppings but he just stares at it. The thought of something as human as eating makes him feel strangely disconnected. It’s like it’s an action that doesn’t belong to him. He’s still not sure he’s even really here.

Stilinski looks at him and then picks up a piece of pizza, placing it on Stiles’ plate. “Eat.”

It’s not a request, it’s an order. Stiles feels like maybe he can deal with that. He nibbles at the corner of it, staring absently at the TV. It tastes good. Really good. Without even thinking about it he takes another bite, chomping down on his slice before grabbing another and then another. Before he knows it, he’s reaching for the last piece.

“I guess I should have ordered two,” Stilinski comments.

Stiles pauses with it halfway to his mouth. “Do you want the last slice?”

“Have it,” Stilinski dismisses.

“I ate it all, didn’t I?” Stiles asks.

“You did a pretty good job,” Stilinski agrees.

“Sorry,” Stiles says sheepishly, even as he takes a huge bite.

“I’m just glad you’ve got your appetite back,” Stilinski responds. He gets to his feet, picking up the empty box. “Do you want dessert?”

“I think I’m going to take a shower,” Stiles tells him around a mouthful. “Get ready for bed.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Stilinski agrees, heading out to put the box in the recycling.

Stiles puts his plate in the sink on his way upstairs, closing the bathroom door behind himself. He turns the water on and undresses, catching sight of himself in the mirror. He pauses, unsettled by his own face. He’s seen that face controlled by someone else and he half-expects it to taunt him now, that manic grin, the cruel words said in his voice. He’s grateful when the glass starts to steam up, obscuring him.

He steps under the stream of water and sets it as hot as he can bear it, hoping it will ease the ache, the bone deep chill that never really goes away. It helps a little, but mostly it just feels good to be clean, to feel untouched by his other self, by the Nogitsune. He needs so desperately for that feeling to last.

He gets into his pyjamas, sitting on the edge of his bed as he shakes out one of the sleeping pills. He stares at it in his palm, picks it up between his thumb and forefinger, contemplating it. Doctor’s orders, he reminds himself, but he still can’t make himself take it.

Stilinski walks past his door, stopping when he sees him. “Everything okay?”

Stiles wordlessly holds the pill up to him.

“You going to take that?” Stilinski prompts.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, but he doesn’t sound convincing. “I’m supposed to.” He drops his hand down in defeat, looking up at his dad. “This is going to sound really pathetic.”

“It won’t,” Stilinski assures him, coming into the room and sitting down next to him.

“Do you think you could stay with me tonight?” Stiles asks. “Make sure nothing happens?”

“What do you think is going to happen?” Stilinski asks.

“I’m weak when I’m asleep,” Stiles says. “That’s when he can take over.”

“He’s gone,” Stilinski insists.

“What if I start sleepwalking?” Stiles asks, his hand shaking as he looks down at the pill. “What if I hurt someone by acting out my nightmares? What if I wander into a coyote den again and freeze to death?”

“I did some research on those pills while you were in the shower,” Stilinski tells him. “They’ll knock you out hard enough your brain won’t have chance to give you any night terrors. You won’t be getting out of bed.”

Stiles stares at the pill. “That’s also mildly terrifying.”

“But I can stay with you the first night,” Stilinski agrees. “We’ll give it a trial run together.”

Stiles nods his head, placing the pill in his mouth before he can change his mind. He grabs the glass of water from his nightstand, swallowing it down. He sighs, rubbing his hands together. “Here we go then.”

He climbs into bed, settling himself down and trying to calm his racing heart. He looks up at his dad, perched on the edge of his bed. “You have to make sure I don’t hurt anyone,” he says. “You have to stop me.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Stilinski dismisses.

“Please just promise,” Stiles insists, his voice catching in his throat. “Whatever it takes. Stop me.”

“I promise you won’t hurt anyone,” Stilinski assures him.

Stiles frowns, wondering if that means the same thing, but he can already feel himself slipping away. He lets his eyes fall closed, hoping he’ll still be him when he wakes up.

The sun is streaming in through the blinds when he opens his eyes and he lifts a hand up to shield them, squinting. His dad is sitting in the chair with a newspaper and a cup of coffee, still in his pyjamas.

“Am I in there?” Stiles asks, gesturing to the paper.

Stilinski startles at the sound of his voice, looking over at him. He glances back at the paper. “Missing teen found. For this town, it’s a real feel good story. And that’s all they need to know.”

Stiles nods, stretching against the bed with a yawn.

“How did you sleep?” Stilinski asks.

“Good,” Stiles responds. “I think. I woke up in the same place I fell asleep. That’s a good sign.”

“You looked very peaceful,” Stilinski tells him.

“How long was I out?” Stiles asks.

Stilinski looks at his watch. “Solid nine hours.”

“That’s more than I’ve slept in weeks,” Stiles says. “Combined.” He sits up, rubbing at his eyes, the heaviness of sleep still clinging to him. “I should get ready for school.”

“You don’t need to go to school today,” Stilinski tells him. “You need to rest.”

“I rested,” Stiles points out. “I slept. I’ve missed so much school lately, I need to catch up.”

“Stiles, I’m taking the day off,” Stilinski says. “You can too.”

Stiles looks at him. “You don’t need to be down at the station tidying up this crazy mess?”

“We have maintenance in,” Stilinski says. “Samurai swords can do some damage.”

“They really can,” Stiles agrees, his eyes drifting away.

He thinks of Allison and it hurts in his gut, a twisting feeling that seems like karma but is probably just guilt. He feels the tears fill his eyes and he tries desperately to blink them away. He can’t face Scott yet, Lydia, Isaac. He tore Allison away from all of them. He thinks about Argent; his sister, his wife, his father, now this. Nothing left. What does that do to a man? Stiles hopes he never finds out.

“I’ll stay at home,” he agrees. Avoiding it might make it worse, but he wants to have at least a little more strength before he faces that. His body still feels so beaten and broken, fragile in a way that it never did before. Full of human weakness.

“Do you want me to bring you some breakfast?” Stilinski offers.

Stiles gives him a look. “I can get out of bed.”

Stilinski nods, getting to his feet. “I don’t know about you but I’m craving pancakes,” he says, crossing the room. He turns back to Stiles when he gets to the door, smirking at him. “Smiley face pancakes.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’m not twelve.”

“Could’ve fooled me most days,” Stilinski responds.

It’s nice to spend the day with his dad, they don’t get enough opportunity to hang out, especially since Stiles’ life was filled with the supernatural and his evenings were barely spent at home. Part of him thought that, after his dad found out about it all, they might be able to do some of those things together. He never thought he’d be the thing his dad had to hunt though.

He tries not to let the guilt get to him just like Stilinski tries very hard not to smother him, even though Stiles can tell he wants to. He wants to hold onto him and never let go, and part of Stiles wants that too.

He remembers how it felt, when he was the one who had to save his dad from being sacrificed. He knew there were risks, but if he’d foreseen what would really come out it, what he’d turn into, would he still have done it? The thought makes him feel sick. He’s fairly sure he’d do anything. Anything.

Scott comes over after school and Stiles is stuck between pretending to be asleep or dead and wanting to hug him and never let go. He settles for sitting awkwardly on the couch and giving him a wave. He wants to read Scott’s mood first. He wants to work out where they stand.

“You’re looking a healthier colour,” Scott comments.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “The corpse look wasn’t a good one.”

“Not your best,” Scott says. He sits down beside Stiles. “You feeling okay?”

“I’m okay,” Stiles nods. “Were you at school today?”

“Yeah,” Scott says. “My mom’s working and Isaac is gone, the house was just too quiet. I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Where’s Isaac gone?” Stiles asks.

“He went out of town with Argent,” Scott says. “I didn’t really get the details.”

“Well, not running into Argent ever again would make my life a lot easier,” Stiles says. He cringes at how thoughtless the words sound. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Scott dismisses.

“I am,” Stiles insists. “I’m really really sorry.”

“We’ve been through this,” Scott says firmly. “How are you really feeling?”

Stiles shrugs, wanting to brush it aside, but he knows Scott won’t give in until he gets a real answer. He sighs, melting into the couch cushions. “Tired,” he says. “Not sleepy tired. I slept. Just exhausted. Every part of me.” He hesitates, shifting on the couch. “I feel used up.”

Scott nods, like he understands, but he can’t.

“Also, really bored, but my attention span is about two seconds long, which might just be the Adderall withdrawal, or maybe it’s brain damage.”

“My mom said the scan was clear,” Scott points out.

“I’m pretty sure she’s breaking every ethics code there is by telling you that,” Stiles responds.

Scott shrugs. “Family.”

Stiles smiles. He can’t argue with that. “Was Lydia at school today?”

“Yeah.”

“How was she?”

“She’s Lydia,” Scott says. “She’s a force to be reckoned with. Not much brings her down.”

“You’ve got that right,” Stiles agrees.

“And you know who else was there?” Scott asks. “Malia.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, feeling his cheeks heat, which is a ridiculous response to have. He clears his throat. “Did she punch you in the face too?”

“Why would she punch me in the face?” Scott asks. “Wait, did she punch _you_ in the face?”

“She did,” Stiles confirms. “It was one of the more pleasant things that happened to me that day.”

“Why would she do that?” Scott asks.

“She doesn’t love being human,” Stiles says. “I promised I’d put her in touch with you if she helped me. But then I got re-possessed and went on a murder spree instead.”

Scott gives him a disapproving look. “I said she could come to my house after school tomorrow, I’d work through some of it with her,” he says. “You should come.”

“Maybe,” Stiles agrees. He’s got plenty of amends to make. “I’m going to go to school tomorrow, so we’ll see how draining that is. But even if I can’t concentrate, I think I’d rather be there. I want to get back to normal, whatever that means.”

“We can work it out together,” Scott tells him.

The simple act of walking into the building proves harder than Stiles was anticipating. It’s kind of like returning to the scene of the crime but this whole town is just a variety of places he wreaked havoc. Not him, he reminds himself. The Nogitsune. It was just wearing his skin.

He can feel the sweat gathering on his brow as he stands outside the doors, wishing he’d taken Scott up on his offer to meet him before classes. He insisted he could do this on his own. He wants that to be true. His heart is hammering in his chest as he steps forward, his breaths urgent and shallow. He rubs a hand over his face, chews at his thumb nail.

Inside, everything is noise and busyness and he feels overwhelmed, not knowing where to let his attention settle, not sure he’d recognise a threat before it was too late. His eyes lock onto a spot down the corridor, the place where they defeated the Nogitsune, the place where Stiles collapsed to the floor, finally giving in. Every step closer hurts a little more, the constant ache inside him intensified, and he’s worried this spot might hold a special power, that maybe it’s still here and it could get him again.

He’s shaking all over, his breaths not taking in any air, and he wants to walk away, wants to turn around and run, but he’s drawn to it, trance like. The thought occurs to him that maybe he is in a trance, maybe he’s dreaming, maybe he never woke up this morning and he’s stuck back inside his own head, in this circle of never knowing if he’s awake or asleep, of never really being able to trust who or where he is.

He can feel the tears brimming at his eyes, clouding his vision, and then a hand is slipping into his, holding on tight. He grips it before he even looks up to find out that it’s Lydia, and all the panic starts to fall away from him like he’s shedding his skin.

“I knew it,” Lydia says, clipped and self-satisfied.

“What?” Stiles asks, still trying to get his bearings.

“I could feel you,” Lydia says. “My Stiles homing beacon is fully operational.”

“You couldn’t have gotten that working while all our lives were in mortal danger?” Stiles asks.

“It was a work in progress,” Lydia admits. “But I have you now. I’m not going to lose you again.”

Stiles smiles at her, touched.

“Walk me to my first class?” she asks, but her tone makes it clear it’s not a request.

“Sure,” Stiles agrees. He has no intention of letting go of her, not when it makes him feel as safe as this.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Lydia says. “Hiding in your room isn’t going to fix things.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Stiles dismisses.

“When I got bitten by an Alpha, spent two days wandering around the woods naked, and then got manipulated, through my dreams, into bringing him back to life, I didn’t take a day off,” Lydia says.

“Right,” Stiles says, trying to keep up. “I did kill a bunch of people though.”

“Nope,” Lydia says firmly. “I am not here for your pity parade. That was not you.”

Stiles just stares at her. He is not a brave enough man to dare question her resilience, she’s undeniably made of stronger stuff than him, but he knows beneath it all she must be hurting. Allison was her best friend. Stiles can’t imagine his life without Scott.

“Well,” Lydia says, reaching her classroom. She goes to pull her hand away from Stiles but he grips it harder.

“Wait.” He pulls her aside, trying to ignore the look she gives him. “Do you think it’s because you’re my anchor?” He looks down at their joined hands. “You feel it too, right?”

“I do,” she confirms.

Stiles breathes in deep, letting the sense of peace wash over him. It’s something he hasn’t felt since before he went under that ice water. “I’m scared,” he admits. “All the time.”

“Scared of what?” Lydia asks.

Stiles looks up at her. “You knew it was going to happen, didn’t you? Allison.”

Lydia’s façade starts to crumble, not quite able to look him in the eye. “I tried to warn her. I told her not to come.”

“Kind of a cruel power,” Stiles says. “Seeing the inevitable.”

Lydia yanks her hand away, giving him a hard look. It’s not instant but he can feel it fading like a dying bulb, his anxiety beginning to squirm inside him again.

“It’s not inevitable,” Lydia insists. “I can save people. I’ve saved people. I’m getting better at it. I found you, didn’t I?”

Stiles nods. “Thank you. I didn’t mean it as an insult. It must suck, that’s all.”

“You have no idea,” Lydia says and there’s so much sorrow behind her eyes that Stiles has to look away. He hates himself for it. She takes a deep breath, straightening herself up and putting on that perky smile. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, wanting so desperately to follow her, but he knows he has to walk away.

He expects people to be watching him, is paranoid all day about attention that he doesn’t want, but so much weird stuff goes on in Beacon Hills that nobody seems to care about him. If anything, the fact that he turned up alive makes his story mundane.

He struggles through the day, lunch with Lydia the only thing that keeps him from skipping out during the morning periods, and once he’s made it that far it feels like more effort than not just to see it through. He can feel low level anxiety lurking just below the surface, despite the pills, and it makes him restless, never quite able to settle. He feels like a skittish animal, like prey, and he doesn’t think he hears a word a teacher says to him all day, but he’s there, he stares at the blackboard, he opens his textbook, he goes through the motions. That has to be worth something.

He decides to take up Scott’s invitation after school. He knows his dad will still be at work and he doesn’t want to go home to an empty house. The familiarity of hanging out with Scott is like a comfort blanket and he knows that he should take the opportunity to clear the air with Malia as well. They haven’t spoken since that night in the basement and Stiles doesn’t want to leave things unsaid, especially if she’s going to join Scott’s pack. He has no room for ambiguity in his life anymore.

He sits on Scott’s bed and watches as he teaches Malia to use her claws. He knows that he’s unnecessary here, they found each other without his help in the end, but if his brush with power is anything to go by, he’s happy to stay on the sidelines.

“Scott,” Melissa calls up the stairs. “Can you help me bring these groceries in?”

“I’ll be right back,” Scott says, heading out of the room.

Stiles gets up and follows him to the doorway, peering out into the hall and watching him disappear from sight before stepping back into the room. He looks at Malia who’s still admiring her claws.

“Did you see that?”

“I did,” Stiles agrees. “It was literally right in my face.”

She grins at him and Stiles can’t help but grin back. She’s gotten something back that she thought was lost forever. He hopes he has a reason to grin like that someday too.

“Listen, I actually, uh, I wanted to talk about what happened,” Stiles says. “In the basement. With you and me.”

“You mean when we got strapped to those chairs and I was about to get an electric drill through my brain?” Malia asks.

“No,” Stiles says awkwardly, rubbing a hand against the back of my neck. “We should probably talk about that too though. But I actually meant the, uh, the bit before that.”

“Oh, the sex?” she asks easily, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Right,” Stiles agrees, pointing at her. “The sex.” He shifts on his feet, his head dropping down as he gets consumed with self-consciousness. “I just wanted to acknowledge it,” he says. “Not in a gross way. Not in a way like I’m trying to make it happen again. I just didn’t want it to be this thing between us that gets more awkward the longer we don’t say it.” He sighs, looking up at her. “I don’t want you to think I’m some jerk that got what he wanted and is just going to blow you off.”

“I don’t think that,” Malia assures him. Stiles nods, relieved. “Besides,” she shrugs. “I could get behind it happening again.”

Stiles stares at her. “You would want to do that again?” he asks dumbly.

“I wouldn’t hate it,” Malia responds. “And it’s gotta be better the more you do it, right?”

Stiles frowns. “Wait, were we not good at it the first time?”

Malia laughs. “Don’t bruise your ego. It was good. I liked it. I’m just saying there might be room for improvement. Practice makes perfect, right?”

“Right,” Stiles agrees, still feeling completely off kilter. This is entirely not how he saw this conversation going. Turning down a hot girl who he’d actually had sex with was not on his agenda today. “I feel kind of like I’m going insane again.”

“Dude, don’t worry, I’m not asking to be your girlfriend,” Malia tells him. “I’m just putting it out there. I’m not looking for a mate.”

“A mate,” Stiles repeats. “Still working on that human thing, huh? I’m kind of struggling with that myself lately.” He goes over to sit beside her. “I’m sorry you got caught up with everything. I’m sorry the Nogitsune used you like that. I feel so awful about everything that happened to everybody.”

“You saved me, right?” Malia points out. “I mean, I think I missed most of the action, but you saved me?”

Stiles stares down at his clasped hands in his lap, feeling himself start to shake. He doesn’t want to go back to that place, not even in his head. Memories can’t physically hurt him, logically he knows that, but when this whole thing played out inside his own head he’s not so sure. He wishes that Lydia were here to anchor him but he can’t rely on other people. He needs to be strong on his own.

“He said he’d let you live if I let him in,” he says. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Then maybe it’s my fault,” Malia points out.

Stiles shakes his head. “I let him in because of you. But you brought me back too.”

Malia frowns. “How did I do that?” she asks.

“Scott and Lydia, they went into my head, they woke me up, but I couldn’t get out,” Stiles explains. “But then Lydia said your name. I don’t know why, but it gave me the strength to break through.”

“Then I guess you’re welcome,” she says lightly before her face creases in confusion. “Wait, why was Lydia saying my name?”

“I actually have no idea,” Stiles responds. “I split in two and then she got kidnapped by the other me, I didn’t really get chance to ask.”

“I guess that was a busy night,” Malia agrees.

“Yeah,” Stiles states, still unable to quite put the magnitude of it into words, even for himself. He looks at Malia. “So, are we cool?”

“We’re cool,” Malia tells him.

“Okay,” Stiles nods. “That is good to know. That is one less thing on my conscience.”

Malia laughs and looks down at her hand, flicking out her claws again. She examines them in wonder, clearly already having moved on.

“Well, my dad’s going to be home soon, I think I’m going to go,” Stiles says, getting to his feet.

“I’ll see you around,” Malia agrees. “Oh, and let me know if you want any more _practice_.”

Stiles feels his cheeks heat as he turns around to face her. “Wow, uh, yeah, I’m gonna take a rain check on that,” he says as he stumbles backwards, hitting the wall. “I’m just kind of trying to work out me right now.”

Malia gives him a bemused look and Stiles reminds himself that he’s talking to a girl who would rather be a coyote. He shakes his head.

“I’ll see you at school,” he says.

“Later,” she agrees.

The sleeping pills give him a hangover that he hopes will lessen as his body gets used to the routine. He’d much rather deal with that than ever have another nightmare though and the sedation makes him feel in control, or at least like no one else can take advantage of his body when it’s knocked out so hard. Like the Kanima venom trapped the Nogitsune, the chemical sleep is a safe place for his body to rest untroubled.

It means early mornings are rough though and when he gets grabbed by Scott the second he’s through the school doors he feels like he’s under attack, flailing uselessly as Scott holds onto his arm, his heartbeat rocketing up so that it feels like it might explode out of his chest.

“We need to talk,” Scott says.

“What?” Stiles asks, recognising that Scott doesn’t mean him harm, but that does nothing to dull the panic expanding inside him. “Are we in danger? Did something happen? Oh god, what’s trying to kill us now?”

“Nothing,” Scott dismisses, glancing at him as he guides him down the corridor towards the locker room. He takes in the sweaty, wild look of Stiles and stops in his tracks, letting go of him. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “Sorry, there’s no danger, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Maybe you should try having a little less urgency then,” Stiles responds, trying to breathe. “Do you know where Lydia is?” He wonders if he can give out a signal to her, if she knows when he needs his anchor.

“No, I don’t know, why do you need Lydia?” Scott responds, looking guilty and confused and like maybe this is a Stiles he doesn’t even know. “I didn’t realise you were so jumpy. You keep saying you’re okay.”

Stiles shakes his head. “It’s the sedatives, they kind of cloud everything, you took me by surprise.”

“Do you really think you need them?” Scott asks.

“Do we really want to take the risk of finding out?” Stiles counters. Scott gives him a concerned look and that at least manages to ground Stiles enough to stop acting crazy, even if he still feels it. He takes a deep breath, lets the oxygen get to his brain. “What did you want to talk about?”

Scott nods towards the locker room and Stiles leads the way inside.

“So,” Scott says, trying to hide a smile, and Stiles is suddenly more concerned than ever. “You and Malia?”

Everything else falls away because he wasn’t expecting this to be about _that_. “She told you?” he asks incredulously.

“No,” Scott says meekly. Stiles gives him a look. “I overheard you two in my room yesterday.”

“You used your werewolf hearing to eavesdrop on a private conversation?” Stiles exclaims.

“No,” Scott insists. “I came back upstairs and I heard you two talking so I… listened from the hall.”

“That’s worse,” Stiles yells.

“Is it?” Scott asks. “I didn’t use my supernatural powers as an unfair advantage against you. It was just normal, old fashioned curiosity.”

“Let’s not call it curiosity,” Stiles dismisses. “Let’s call it snooping.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Scott says in a small voice and Stiles realises what this conversation is really about.

“I was going to,” he says. “Probably. I mean between the possession and the deaths there wasn’t really a good time to bring up the fact that I finally lost my virginity. Seemed kind unimportant in comparison.”

“It’s not unimportant though,” Scott says.

Stiles gives a sad smile. “Remember when that was the kind of thing we used to care about?”

“I still care about it,” Scott says. “I want to hear about all the mundane things that happen in your life in between the moments when various supernatural creatures are trying to kill us.”

Stiles feels a warmth spreading in his chest. He sits down on one of the benches, Scott joining him.

“It was in Eichen House,” he says, looking down at his hands. “It was just… We were lonely and we were scared and I think we just needed to feel human. To feel real. I’m not saying it wasn’t amazing, because it was insanely amazing, but it was something else as well. I don’t know. It was not being all alone in there. It was a good thing where there weren’t any good things.” He gives a self-deprecating little laugh, looking up at Scott. “All the times I imagined being able to have this conversation with you, I didn’t think I’d be talking about it like this.”

“I guess our lives turned out a little differently than we expected,” Scott agrees.

“You could say that,” Stiles agrees.

“I’m glad you had her with you in there,” Scott says earnestly. “I’m glad you had someone.”

Stiles nods, trying to fight back the tears he feels welling up. “I’m glad you’re helping her. She deserves it.”

“So, you think you two might…”

Stiles gives him a look. “You were the one listening in. You tell me.”

Scott hangs his head, cringing.

“I don’t know,” Stiles admits. “I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but it’s not really my top priority right now. I’m just trying to work on not upping my death count, and maybe figuring out if I can somehow make amends for it.”

Scott punches him in the arm and Stiles reels back, staring at him appalled.

“Ow!” he says indignantly.

“New rule,” Scott states. “Every time you try and take responsibility for what that monster did in your body, I’m going to punch you in the arm.”

“Well that seems harsh,” Stiles says, rubbing what will inevitably become a bruise.

“It’s for your own good,” Scott insists. “And next time, it’s going to be werewolf strength.”

“That wasn’t werewolf strength?” Stiles asks incredulously.

The bell rings.

“Come on,” Scott says, getting to his feet. “Time for class.”

Stiles tries to keep his head down, tries to be what people need him to be, which apparently is silent and unapologetic. He wants to beg for forgiveness, wants to break down, wants to give up. He wants to take more pills and just sleep because at least when he’s asleep it doesn’t hurt. Everything seems bright and harsh and stark and he craves night-time and oblivion and the fact that he doesn’t even dream any more. It’s the closest he can get to not existing. The thought scares him because he doesn’t want that, it’s the last thing he wants, he got too close to it before and what he wants now is life. Life and control. He still feels like he’s teetering on the edge of both.

It’s not what people want to hear though, so he pretends that he’s not cold all the time, that he doesn’t hurt all over like he’s stuck in a perpetual flu, that his skull doesn’t feel like it’s constantly going to cave in under the pressure. It’s exhausting though and as warm as his friends’ presence makes him feel, after a couple of days he finds himself spending his free period hiding in the corner of the library, hunched over a textbook that he can’t quite make his eyes focus on.

When someone sits down opposite he tries to put on a brave face as he looks up. When he sees who it is, he lets his expression fall.

“I thought you left town.”

“I did,” Isaac agrees. “Argent went to France. I was going to go with him, but then I thought about being an Omega, even one with a werewolf hunter on his side, and I figured maybe I should just stick with what I know.” He looks around the library, something nostalgic in his expression.

“Scott didn’t say you were back,” Stiles comments, but he’s mostly been avoiding him all day. He hurts too much to pretend.

“I got back last night,” Isaac says. “I tried to sneak in, but they had the mountain ash in the doorway so I had to ring the bell and wake them all up. Scott was pretty pissed.”

“What a welcome home,” Stiles mutters. He looks back down at his book, waiting for Isaac to leave, not sure why he’s even there in the first place. When Isaac just stares at him Stiles looks back up, seeing something hungry in his eye. He shifts back in his chair. “Shouldn’t you be in class right now?”

“Yes,” Isaac agrees, holding up a bathroom pass. He drops it down onto the table, still staring at Stiles. “I could smell you all the way from French class.”

“Smell me?” Stiles asks cautiously.

Isaac leans his forearms on the table, bringing him closer. “Turmoil and despair,” he says with glee.

“What are you talking about?” Stiles asks.

Isaac reaches out his hand before Stiles can react, wrapping it around Stiles’ forearm. Stiles looks down, watching the black lines siphoning the pain out of his body, feeding it into Isaac. There’s a dark look on Isaac’s face but he seems pleased. He seems like he’s enjoying it. Stiles’ yanks at his arm, even as the pressure eases in his head and he feels like he can breathe.

“What are you doing?” he demands, still trying to pull free as Isaac tightens his grip.

“Shhh,” Isaac soothes.

“Let go,” Stiles insists, pulling his whole body backwards, nearly falling out of his chair as Isaac’s fingers finally slip away. Stiles cradles his arm as though Isaac has hurt him when really he’s done the opposite. “What the hell was that?”

“I was helping,” Isaac says.

“You don’t help,” Stiles points out.

Isaac shrugs. “Emotional pain and physical pain are processed in different ways,” he says. “Trust me, I’ve had plenty of experience with both. I know which I’d prefer right now. I’ve had about as much as I can take of the other.”

Stiles sags, shifting himself closer to the table again. “I’m sorry,” he says. “About Allison. I am so so sorry.”

“Everyone’s always sorry,” Isaac says. “When my mom died, everyone was sorry. And then when my brother died, everyone was sorry again. They weren’t really sorry when my dad died, but maybe that’s just because they thought I murdered him.” He looks hopelessly at Stiles. “What am I supposed to do with sorry?”

Stiles nods. “Everyone was sorry when my mom died too,” he agrees. “But I don’t mean it as an empty condolence. I mean that I’m sorry for my part in it. She’d be okay if I wasn’t weak enough to let the Nogitsune in.”

Isaac considers him for a moment. “Does anyone else know you’re hurting like that?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Please don’t tell them.”

Isaac gives an ironic little laugh. “Who would I tell?” He picks up his bathroom pass, playing with it for a moment before getting to his feet. “I’m guessing none of those chemicals you’re exuding are painkillers.”

“Sedatives,” Stiles responds.

Isaac nods. “You’ll have to come back down to earth eventually.”

Stiles shudders as he watches him walk away. That’s what he’s afraid of.

He thinks of Isaac’s words as he holds his sleeping pill that night. Sooner or later he’s going to have to face up to whatever he really is. Maybe when he has his strength back. Right now, he has nothing left to fight with and so he takes the pill and he climbs into bed, letting it all slide away.

When he gets to school the next day, he sits in his jeep, rubbing at his heavy eyes like it might clear the foggy feeling in his head. He hasn’t told his dad about the side-effects of the medication because he knows he wouldn’t let him drive and he can’t handle having to beg for rides everywhere. He wants to take care of himself. He doesn’t want to be anyone else’s problem.

He opens his eyes, leaning against the steering wheel as he looks across the parking lot. He sees Scott over by his bike talking to Lydia and Kira and it feels a little less terrible knowing his friends are here. As hard as it is to keep his head up, he craves their presence right now more than he wants to be alone. He has to take that as a good sign.

As he approaches, Lydia spots him over Scott’s shoulder and her eyes go wide. “Hey, Stiles,” she says loudly, drowning out whatever Scott is saying.

Scott stops talking and turns to see him. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Stiles responds, not missing the looks they throw each other. His heart starts to beat faster in his chest and he tries to tell himself that he’s imagining it. Paranoia is one of his symptoms. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Scott says, sounding anything but convincing.

“Okay,” Stiles agrees. He looks around and they all avoid meeting his eyes.

“I was wondering if you were going to be doing lacrosse this semester,” Scott says.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Stiles dismisses. “It’s not like I’ll make first team.”

“You might,” Scott encourages.

Stiles gives him a look. “I’m in worse shape than every time I’ve failed before.”

Malia approaches them, looking at Scott. “Did you find any more out about the body?” she asks. Scott gives her a seriously unimpressed look. “Oh, right, we’re not supposed to tell Stiles about that.”

“What body?” Stiles asks, looking desperately at Scott.

“Just a body,” Scott says, trying to make it sound like no big deal. “In the woods.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stiles demands. A sick realisation comes over him. “Do you think that I did it?”

“Of course we don’t think that,” Scott tells him, looking appalled.

All the ways in which he could have killed a person and not know about it run through his head, potential horrors unfolding before him, and then fingers close around his wrist. He looks up to see Isaac stood beside him, taking his pain.

“Let go,” he grits out, yanking his arm back. “I told you not to do that.”

“You look like you needed a break,” Isaac points out.

“I am not your abusive father,” Stiles spits out. “Find someone else to hurt you.”

Isaac stares at him. So does everyone else. The parking lot starts to spin around him and he knows this is a full-blown panic attack now, the tears springing to his eyes. He wants to leave, get away from them all, but he can’t even see which way to go.

He feels himself tilt backwards and then Lydia’s hand is in his, warm and soft and clearing a path to guide him through the terror. He takes a breath, closing his eyes so that he doesn’t have to look at anyone. He can feel his feet on the ground, the world has stopped rushing around him, but the fear doesn’t quite go away. He opens his eyes, wanting to ask, but Scott reaches out a hand, placing it on his shoulder.

“You’re in pain?”

“A bit,” Stiles says, trying to brush it off.

“A lot,” Isaac corrects. Stiles gives him a look.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Scott asks.

“What would that change?” Stiles responds. Scott gives him a worried look. “I’m dealing with it. I’m fine. I’ll take some Tylenol.”

“Over the counter pills aren’t going to touch this,” Isaac tells Scott.

“Can you just stop?” Stiles snaps. Isaac shuts his mouth, looking away. Stiles looks down at the ground, trying to collect himself. “The body,” he says, dread creeping up his spine, making him hold on to Lydia tighter. “What if I killed them in my sleep?”

“You didn’t,” Scott dismisses.

“We shouldn’t just dismiss the possibility,” Stiles tells him. “I mean, you didn’t tell me for a reason. And here I am, emotional outbursts, panic attacks, who knows what else.”

“It wasn’t you,” Scott insists. “And the only reason I didn’t tell you is because… the other day, when you thought I was about to tell you something bad, you didn’t handle it very well. I thought I was doing you a favour.”

Stiles feels himself sag, shifting closer to Lydia. He wishes he never had to let go of her.

“But we’re meeting at my place tonight to do some research,” Scott tells him. “You’re more than welcome.”

Stiles swallows uncomfortably. Maybe taking a break wouldn’t be the worst thing. That’s not too selfish, is it? “I’ve got a lot of homework to catch up on,” he says.

“Yeah,” Scott agrees. “Well, open invitation. As always.”

Stiles smiles at him, nodding his head.

“Argent gave me Allison’s tablet before he left,” Isaac says. “With the bestiary on it. It’s all in Latin, but it might be some use.” He looks at Stiles. “Did you learn any Japanese when the Nogitsune was in you?”

Stiles gives him an irritated look. “No.”

“That’d be a cool, to pick up a new skill,” Isaac says. “Make it more worthwhile.”

Stiles stares at him, feeling himself clench.

“I’m going to walk you to class,” Lydia tells him, tugging on his arm.

Stiles nods. “I’ll see you later,” he tells Scott.

As they walk inside the building, Lydia picks up their joined hands, looking at them. “I don’t mind doing this,” she tells him. “I’m here for you. But you need to start to deal with it yourself.”

“I’m trying,” Stiles tells her. “I’m taking the pills.”

“That’s treating the symptoms, not the cause,” Lydia tells him. “You need to get in your head, work it out.”

“Get in my head like you got in my head?” Stiles asks.

“I don’t think it works like that,” Lydia says. “Find the root. Pull it out.”

“Right,” Stiles says, like that makes any sense to him.

“What’s the deal with Isaac?” Lydia asks.

“He’s hurting,” Stiles admits, already feeling bad for the way he spoke to him. “I should cut him some slack, it is my fault.”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “I’m so bored of this already. I want Stiles back.”

Stiles feels a wave of black terror roll through him. “I am Stiles.”

Lydia looks down at their hands like she feels it too. “Stiles wouldn’t blow off research,” she says. “Stiles wouldn’t turn down a new case.”

“Stiles is behind in all his classes due to possession and doesn’t want to have to repeat his junior year,” Stiles responds.

“Lydia gets that,” Lydia says. “And Lydia gets the hurt and the fear and the guilt. But she still put on her make up this morning and put a smile on her face. She’s not giving up.”

Stiles nods his head. “You know, this isn’t great for my disassociation.”

Lydia stands up a little taller. “Shoulders back, head up, pageant smile.”

Stiles follows her instructions and the stance makes him feel more powerful. “That actually helps.”

“Fake it until you make it,” Lydia tells him. She squeezes his hand, a signal before letting go. “I’ll see you later.”

At the end of the day, Stiles sits in his jeep and watches Kira getting onto the back of Scott’s bike, the two of them riding away. He feels left out, even though it’s his own choice not to go. He just needs things to settle down a little more. He needs to get back to being himself. Pull out the roots. He thinks of the Nemeton, its powers awakened, and wonders if they’re ever going to get a quiet day again.

He drives home, sitting down at his desk and getting out his textbooks. He doesn’t even know where to start. All he has to do is pick a subject, there’s nothing he isn’t behind on, but he feels paralysed by the decision. He feels his heart beating in his chest and reaches for his backpack, taking out the anxiety pills and staring at them. He doesn’t like the way they make him feel, but the numbness at least feels less dangerous than everything else that rushes around inside him.

He hears his dad’s footsteps on the stairs and drops the pills back into his bag, looking up. “Hey, dad?”

“Yeah?” Stilinski asks, stopping in his doorway.

“Is that camera still working?” he asks, pointing up to the corner of his room.

Stilinski looks at it. “You mean am I watching your nightly activities? No. I haven’t activated it lately.”

“So you don’t know if I’ve been getting up in the night?” Stiles asks, feeling the panic start to claw at him again.

“You haven’t broken anything, I’m sure it’s fine,” Stilinski dismisses, coming into the room.

“But I might be getting out,” Stiles says.

“You’re not getting out,” Stilinski says confidently. “Every door and window in this whole place is alarmed and I get live alerts if anyone touches anything.”

“What if I disarmed it?” Stiles asks. “What if I hacked into the system and tampered with the alerts?”

“Do you even know how to do that?” Stilinski asks pointedly. Stiles purses his lips together but doesn’t say anything. “And you can’t disarm it, you don’t even know the code,” Stilinski points out. “I purposely made sure of that so that you _couldn’t_ disarm it in your sleep.”

“What if I found out?” Stiles asks. “What if I can read your mind?”

“Then read my mind now,” Stilinski tells him, fixing him with an irritated look. Stiles relents, looking down at his books. Stilinski moves over to the doorway. “What do you want for dinner?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles replies. He looks back up. “Hey, dad?”

“Yes,” Stilinski responds, looking like he’s low on patience.

“You found a body last night?” Stiles asks, already dreading the answer, the confirmation that it’s real.

Stilinski sighs, coming back into the room. “Lydia found a body last night.”

“Of course she did,” Stiles mutters. He hesitates before he asks the next question. “Do you think it was me?”

“This wasn’t you,” Stilinski tells him.

“Why is everyone so sure of that?” Stiles asks.

“Because you haven’t got the teeth for it,” Stilinski responds.

“Oh,” Stiles says, trying to fight back the mental image.

“Wild animal attack is the official report,” Stilinski says. “I think you and I both know different.”

“Werewolf?” Stiles asks.

“I’m not sure,” Stilinski says. “I’ll need a little more information.”

“Is there a case file lying around the house that I might happen to just come across?” Stiles asks innocently.

“No,” Stilinski tells him. Stiles rolls his eyes. “Talk to Scott,” Stilinski adds.

Stiles looks up at him. “They’re, uh, they’re having a little research session at his house tonight.”

“And you’re not there?” Stilinski asks.

“I have all this,” Stiles says, gesturing at the books in front of him.

Stilinski nods. “You need any help?”

“No,” Stiles says, but it doesn’t sound convincing. He sighs. “I don’t know where to start,” he says, his voice rising with the anxiety of such a stupidly simple decision. “I can’t decide what to do first.”

“What do you have first period on a Monday?” Stilinski asks.

“History,” Stiles responds.

“Then start there,” Stilinski tells him. “Work through your schedule. You’ll get it all done.”

Stiles nods, moving things out of the way so that he can grab his history textbook, cradling it to himself. “Thanks. That helps.”

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready,” Stilinski says.

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles calls after him.

Apart from a break for dinner, Stiles spends all night buried in his history textbook, but he still feels no closer to being done. The slower he realises his progress is, the more his brain jams up, failing to process anything he’s reading. He can feel his heartbeat rising, watching the clock and knowing he has to stop soon, knowing he won’t wake up from his sleeping pill in time if he doesn’t take it now, but he can’t leave this so undone. He can’t fail this much on his first attempt, he’ll never catch up.

He leans forward, his head in his hands as he tries not to break down and cry. The sound of knuckles tapping on his open door makes him jump, sitting back up.

“How’s it going?” Stilinski asks, his voice already sympathetic.

“Getting there,” Stiles says, but his words are so uneven it’s laughable, his eyes noticeably damp.

“I’m sure you can ask for more time,” Stilinski assures him. “Extenuating circumstances.”

“Time is finite, dad,” Stiles tells him. “They can only give me so much.” He sighs, looking down at the textbook. “I just can’t make it make sense.”

Stilinski hesitates. “Can you read it?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, wishing that was the problem. That would at least be a real excuse. “It’s the comprehension I’m struggling with.”

“I think it might be time to put it down for the night,” Stilinski says, reaching over and closing the book. “A little Adderall might help with the concentration,” he suggests.

Stiles looks up at him. He’s not sure he can handle a world that’s sharp and in focus. “I’ll think about it.”


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as Stiles arrives at school, he goes on a mission to find Lydia. It takes him ten minutes to locate her in the chemistry lab.

“Should I be able to know where you are?” he asks. She looks up at him curiously. “Should I have a Lydia homing beacon?” he continues. “Is that an anchor thing or a banshee thing?”

“I don’t know,” she considers. “Probably a combination.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, sitting down next to her. “Can I ask you a favour?”

She gives a little huff, putting her pen down and holding her hand out to him.

“Oh, actually, not that,” Stiles says. “Though that is awesome, we could do that too.”

She gives him an impatient look, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Right, no, get to the point,” he agrees. “Can you tutor me? In literally anything? I can’t do this on my own.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “But only because you look so pathetic. And for every tutoring session, you owe me a favour that I may redeem at any time of my choosing.”

“Agreed,” Stiles says eagerly.

“Fine,” Lydia says curtly. “You can come to my house tonight, we’ll make a start.”

“Lydia, you are a lifesaver, do you even understand that?” Stiles gushes.

“You can go now,” she tells him.

“Right,” Stiles agrees. “Tonight.”

They start with chemistry, books spread out over Lydia’s bed. Stiles would have done anything to be laid on Lydia’s bed with her once upon a time, would have been unable to concentrate because he’d be lost in scenarios where this turned romantic, or more likely sexual. He doesn’t feel like that about her now though and he’s not sure when that happened. He wants to nuzzle into her neck, wants her to hold him, but that’s just pathetic neediness, he’d probably feel the same way if it was Scott beside him.

His daydreams aren’t the thing that’s stopping him from concentrating now though, it’s the dull part of his brain that still feels dead. Part of him is scared to wake it up, he’s still not sure what’s in there, and maybe that resistance is what’s keeping him in this limbo where he never feels like he’s really there.

Lydia reaches over, twining her fingers together with Stiles’. He takes a breath, an involuntary action, like his body knows how to take care of itself when they’re connected.

“It’s just schoolwork” Lydia tells him. “You’re not dumb, Stiles, no matter how you act. You can do this.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, nodding. When she says it, he believes it.

They hold hands while she talks him through the material, encouraging him to make notes, to consolidate his learning, to prove that he’s taking it on board and not just zoning out which is still kind of an issue. He gets through way more content than he managed on his own and it feels like it actually makes sense to him, like he’s not studying a foreign language without context.

Lydia pulls her hand away with a sigh, sitting up. “I think we’re done.”

“But I’m not caught up yet,” Stiles complains, not sure whether it’s that factor of the lack of contact with Lydia that’s making the anxiety so sharp.

“You’ve done plenty,” Lydia tells him. “Frying your brain isn’t going to help. Take the rest of the evening off.”

Stiles sits up, picking up his notes and looking at them. He knows that she’s right. Burn out will get him nowhere. “Thanks for helping me,” he says.

“If anyone can get you up to speed, it’s me,” Lydia tells him. “But right now, I have some silky pyjamas to get into and some archaic Latin to read.”

“The bestiary?” Stiles asks, gathering up his things. Lydia nods. “Do you guys know what it might be?”

“No,” Lydia says. “I’m mostly reading it for fun.”

“Of course you are,” Stiles says, zipping up his backpack.

“You should go do something fun,” Lydia tells him.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “Maybe I should.”

He gets into his jeep and drives purely on instinct. If he was ever bored, there was only one place he ended up. It was maybe what had gotten them into this mess in the first place but at the end of the day that only makes him surer that this is where he should be.

He pulls up outside Scott’s house and lets himself in, knowing without question that he’s welcome. As he closes the door behind himself, Isaac comes through from the kitchen.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, moving towards the stairs.

“Scott’s not here,” Isaac tells him.

Stiles stops, feeling his mood dip. Of course, Scott is out hunting whatever it is that’s leaving mangled bodies. “He didn’t invite you?” he asks Isaac.

“On his date?” Isaac responds. “No. That would be weird.”

Stiles stares at him. “He’s on a date?”

“Yeah,” Isaac agrees.

“Why wouldn’t he tell me that?” Stiles demands.

“Are you under the impression that anyone tells me anything?” Isaac asks. “I overheard him talking to his mom.”

“But why didn’t he tell _me_?” Stiles asks, unable to hide the hurt. Isaac shrugs. Stiles sighs, looking at the stairs again. “Is Melissa here?”

“Work,” Isaac says. “It’s just me.”

Stiles shifts on his feet, feeling lost. “Oh.”

“I’m using cookies to make ice cream sandwiches,” Isaac tells him.

“What are you, five?” Stiles responds.

“Do you want one?” Isaac offers.

“Obviously I want one,” Stiles says.

Isaac smiles, nodding his head towards the kitchen before leading the way.

They sit on the couch, eating their ice cream sandwiches in silence. Stiles feels like they should put the TV on, or at least some music, but the quiet feels calm rather than awkward. He turns to look at Isaac, trying to stop his ice cream from dripping, and there’s something so vulnerable about it.

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” Stiles says. “About your dad. That was incredibly not cool. I was kind of spiralling off into a panic attack and I took it out on you.”

Isaac shrugs, looking like he really doesn’t care. “You told me not to do touch you.”

Stiles watches him. Sometimes he can be so impenetrable Stiles wants to bang his head against a wall.

“I did notice that right after that, Lydia took your hand and that was okay,” Isaac comments, still not looking at him. “Because I know she wasn’t just holding your hand. I know that was supernatural, just like what I did, and she didn’t ask permission.”

“But she’s my anchor,” Stiles says. “That’s built in permission.”

“I get it,” Isaac agrees. “I know what that feels like.”

Stiles looks down, a heavy feeling in his stomach. “Allison.”

“I felt it,” Isaac continues. “When she died. Like a little spark went out in me too.”

Stiles closes his eyes, not wanting to hear it but knowing he doesn’t have the right to interrupt.

“It was the same with Erica and Boyd,” Isaac goes on. “Little sparks dying. I lost my packmates and then I lost my Alpha and then I lost my anchor.”

Stiles looks at his ice cream, catching a drip with his tongue. “It does sound pretty careless when you put it like that.” He shoves the remainder of the ice cream drenched cookies into his mouth.

Isaac gives a little laugh, looking at him for the first time since they sat down. Stiles looks back at him, feeling self-conscious as he tries to swallow down his mouthful.

“You have Scott now though,” he points out. “You have a new pack.”

“They’re not _my_ pack,” Isaac says. “It’s like sharing blood. I still feel the link to Derek, even though he’s not an Alpha anymore. It’s watered down but it’s something.” He shakes his head. “I don’t even know where he is.”

“Yeah, Derek’s like that,” Stiles agrees.

Isaac looks down at Stiles’ hand. “Can I try something?”

“I thought we had an understanding,” Stiles says, pulling his arm away.

“I don’t want your pain,” Isaac tells him. “I just want to know if I’m still an anchor if my ship sank.”

“Isn’t that tied to the person?” Stiles asks. “The experience?”

“Probably,” Isaac agrees. “But can I try it? Just for a second?”

Stiles looks down at his hand and then offers it out to Isaac. It feels like the least he can do.

“Just tell me if you feel anything,” Isaac says.

He wipes his hand down on his jeans and Stiles wonders if it’s ice cream or sweat he’s trying to get rid of. Stiles closes his eyes as Isaac presses their palms together, wrapping his fingers around Stiles’ hand. It’s bigger than Lydia’s, stronger, and it makes him feel safe. It’s not that intrinsic feeling he gets with Lydia though, it’s just physical, a big strong werewolf that could kill anything that tried to hurt Stiles. That fact is comforting but it doesn’t slow his heartrate, doesn’t give him inner calm. He’s not quite sure how to break that to Isaac though so he sits there for a moment longer, letting the warmth seep into him.

“Anything?” Isaac asks.

Stiles opens his eyes, looking up at him. There’s an expression on Isaac’s face, hopeful and scared but resigned too. He’s used to losing. Stiles feels like he can relate. He’s vaguely aware that they’re still holding hands, that he hasn’t said a word, that they’re sitting here, too close, staring into each other’s eyes. It makes his cheeks heat because he wants to nuzzle Isaac like he did Lydia, he craves that warmth and protection, but he craves more than that too. He licks his lips and Isaac’s eyes flick down, watching.

Stiles isn’t sure who initiates the kiss, but for his own pride he tells himself it was Isaac. It’s gentle at first, brushes of lips that question and seek and explore. It makes Stiles feel light headed, makes him feel like he doesn’t have a firm reference point. Isaac’s hand slips from his, his fingertips ticklish as they stroke their way to the back of Stiles’ neck. Stiles shudders, gasping as he pulls his lips away, pressing their foreheads together. He breathes, not letting his eyes fall closed, something making him want to be present.

“Are you okay?” Isaac asks.

Stiles flicks his eyes up and he can barely focus on Isaac, they’re so close. “Yeah,” he says, trying not to let his voice catch.

“Okay,” Isaac agrees.

Stiles tilts his head, kissing him again, more firmly this time. Isaac’s fingers grip the back of his neck, pulling him closer, reminding Stiles of the potential strength in his body. Stiles thinks that should make him feel weak, but he feeds off the power, making him brave. He wraps his arms around Isaac’s torso, pressing into him as Isaac parts his lips, letting Stiles lick his way inside.

Isaac’s mouth is cold and sweet from the ice cream and Stiles fights back a shiver, needing to get rid of the chill that’s always inside him. Isaac’s body is warm and solid though and Stiles’ hands close into fists in Isaac’s T-shirt, dragging him tight against him so that it’s hard to breathe. Isaac’s hand slides into his hair, cradling his head, and Stiles groans, leaning back into it and letting himself be kissed.

The slide of their tongues is slow, measured, pleasure seeking. Stiles gets lost to it, feels his body moving in waves with Isaac’s tongue. Isaac presses him back and Stiles goes easily, sprawling out along the length of the couch, Isaac’s body fitting on top of him. It should feel claustrophobic, pinned down by so much weight and muscle, but Stiles just feels safe.

He holds onto him as their mouths fit together, tongues warmed up now from the heat and the friction, and Stiles realises he’s warmed up too, sweat prickling at his brow for a reason other than disorientated panic. The realisation makes him shift under Isaac, pressing up into him, feeling it ease that ache in his bones, even as another twinge deep in his gut is starting to build.

He pulls his mouth away, tipping his head back as he takes in breaths, Isaac using the opportunity to trails his lips down Stiles’ throat. He kisses the soft flesh, licking over his pulse point before breathing in deeply through his nose, nuzzling at him.

Isaac’s hands move over Stiles’ sides, ticklish as they shift the material of his T-shirt against him, and Stiles squirms, Isaac shifting so that his thigh is pressing between Stiles’, pressing against his cock. His hard cock. Stiles makes a little noise, his body trying to coil in on itself, but Isaac pushes down more firmly, his own dick against Stiles’ hip.

Stiles goes from warm to hot, burning up. He digs his fingertips into Isaac’s back, Isaac lifting his head to meet his eyes, and Stiles just lets all his neediness show. What does he have left to hide now? Isaac moves, fitting their mouths together, and Stiles holds him there as tight as he can as their tongues slide together over and over, each swipe winding Stiles’ body tighter.

Isaac pulls back, looking down at him with glassy eyes. “Do you want to go upstairs?”

“Not really,” Stiles responds.

Isaac looks at the clock. “Melissa’s going to be home any minute,” he says. “So we should probably go upstairs or stop.”

Stiles considers those options for a second. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Isaac grins at him, getting to his feet and then grabbing hold of Stiles’ hand, yanking him up with impressive strength. He sees the look on Stiles’ face and pulls him closer.

“I can carry you up the stairs if you like.”

“I can walk,” Stiles tells him, pushing him back.

It’s mostly true, even if his legs shake and his feet are uncoordinated. He knows the way, has stayed in the guestroom before, and he notices that it barely looks any different now than it did then.

“Do you mind if I take my shirt off?” Isaac asks.

“No,” Stiles responds, still looking around. When his eyes land back on Isaac, he takes in the newly exposed flesh, his cock giving a throb of appreciation.

“Do you mind if I take your shirt off?” Isaac prompts.

Stiles shrugs out of his hoodie and then lifts his arms over his head like a little kid. Isaac looks amused but lifts the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it up and over Stiles’ head before discarding it on the floor. Isaac’s eyes take in his body, pausing on the waistline of his jeans. Stiles’ self-consciousness wars away with the obvious want on Isaac’s face but mostly he just feels cold and exposed and he can’t handle that.

He grabs Isaac, pushing him back onto the bed as he smashes their mouths together. Isaac grunts as Stiles lands gracelessly on top of him but he’s a werewolf, he’ll heal. Stiles can’t stand another moment of not touching him, not kissing him, because it’s like waking up from a dream and Stiles doesn’t want to deal with reality right now. He remembers what Isaac said about coming back down to earth eventually and from the way that Isaac grabs at him, wrapping him up in his arms, he’s not ready for that either.

Stiles rocks his hips downwards and Isaac grabs his ass, adjusting him so that their cocks are lined up, Stiles whining at the sudden overstimulation. Isaac’s other hand goes to Stiles’ face, fingertips brushing over his cheek as they continue to kiss. Stiles lifts his own hand, cupping the side of Isaac’s face and Isaac hums happily, a noise that Stiles can feel vibrating through his body. He wonders if he can make him do it again. He wonders if it’s closer to a purr or a roar.

Isaac’s hand slides into his hair, down to the nape of his neck, dull fingernails scraping over his flesh before they trail down his spine, flipping him onto his back in one fluid move, pinning him down. Stiles stares up at him, feeling winded and a little indignant. He likes Isaac’s confidence though, likes the want he can see so clearly in his eyes, likes being on the receiving end of so much power. If Stiles turned into anything bad, Isaac could stop him, and that gives Stiles permission to let go.

He cranes his neck to join their mouths together and Isaac meets him halfway, pressing him back down into the bed. Everything is the slick slide of tongues, the breathy noises, the skin of their torsos pressed together. It’s their restless hips and wandering hands and the way their whole bodies surge together like they can never be close enough. All of his senses are just Isaac and pleasure.

He tips his head back to breathe, Isaac’s mouth trailing up his jaw, nibbling on his earlobe before moving down to suck on his neck, and Stiles wonders how he has so many moves. He arches his back, Isaac’s hand sliding into the back of his jeans, fingertips grazing the top of his ass, and Stiles has had about as much as he can handle. He thrusts his hands between them, tugging at the button on Isaac’s jeans, and Isaac growls against his flesh, sending a thrill through Stiles.

He shifts back, attacking the front of Stiles’ jeans, clumsy hands working to undress one another, toeing off shoes and yanking at waistbands and kicking their legs free. When they’re naked, Isaac pauses above him, gazing down at Stiles’ face. Stiles doesn’t know what he sees there, can’t manually arrange his face into anything sexy or alluring, he doesn’t think he has the muscles for it, but Isaac seems happy enough, falling back down on top of him as their mouths press together again.

Everything is slick; slick with sweat, slick with saliva, slick with precome. Stiles tries to hold on for purchase as their hips move, cocks sliding together, but he feels like an utter mess, inside and out. He lets out a broken sob as he pulls his mouth away, squeezing his eyes shut tight, not wanting it to be over because he knows already that it’s going to hurt. Isaac cards his fingers through his hair, a gesture that feels comforting, kissing his temple as his other hand grabs Stiles’ hip, pulling him into his thrusts.

Stiles feels his whole body surging, his eyes rolling back in his head. He digs his fingernails into Isaac’s shoulders, lifting his head up to bury it in the crook of his neck. He smells musky, like a teenage boy but more than that. He wonders if it’s the wolf pheromones, wonders what it means about him that it makes his cock jump. He opens his mouth, letting out a helpless noise before gasping in air, the pressure building up inside him.

He panics as he feels it start to happen, that loss of control. Maybe that’s what let the Nogitsune back in in the basement, not the wolf lichen wearing off. Isaac must sense something, a change in his scent or a spike in his heartrate, because he dips his head to angle his mouth towards Stiles’ ear.

“Shhhh,” he soothes.

It’s not the gesture itself but the reminder that Isaac is powerful, Isaac is perceptive, Isaac can stop him. Isaac is in control.

Stiles bites his own lip, drives his hips upwards with determination. Isaac mirrors his enthusiasm, thrusting down harshly against him. It’s an unrelenting push and pull that makes Stiles feel like he’s going to shatter, but not in a bad way for once. He doesn’t feel fragile, not when his body holds so much potential, not when he can feel Isaac coming apart in his arms.

He moans as every muscle in his body pulses and spasms, leaving him a helpless mess of too sharp sensation. He clings to Isaac like he’ll stop him drifting away to sea, presses his face into Isaac’s flesh as he rides it out, heat and pleasure coursing through him, making everything else go away. Isaac’s hips slam down against him, growling into Stiles’ ear, and Stiles makes a broken noise in response, feeling his body give.

He lets go, melting into the bed with abandon, opening his eyes to see Isaac hovering above him, face flushed and body full of tension. Stiles looks down their bodies, sliding down a hand to wrap around Isaac’s cock. He’s done this to himself plenty of times, how hard can it be? He gives it a squeeze, starting to stroke, but his grip feels weak and he struggles to coordinate himself.

Isaac reaches down, wrapping a hand around Stiles’ and forcing him to hold on tight. He moves his hips, thrusting into Stiles’ fingers, and Stiles’ clouded brain presents him with images of just what else Isaac might like to thrust into. He squirms as an aftershock rolls through him, shaking his head. He needs to concentrate. He needs to be present.

He looks up to find Isaac looking down at him, watching his face. Stiles immediately doesn’t know what to do with his expression but then Isaac’s eyes narrow and he drops his head forward, clenching his teeth as his fingers close like a death grip over Stiles’. Stiles flinches but doesn’t try to pull away, handing himself over to Isaac, needing so intrinsically to make him feel good. He needs it as surely as he needed it for himself.

Isaac growls when he comes, deeper than before, and Stiles is upset they’re not pressed together anymore. He wants to feel it vibrate through him, wants to experience the power of it. Isaac’s come splatters over Stiles’ stomach, his hand, a hot sticky mess that Stiles tries not to care about.

Isaac lifts his head up, dark, hooded eyes staring into Stiles’. Stiles tilts his head, making a false start towards a kiss, doubting himself at the last second. Isaac shifts his own head, the two of them never quite coordinating it until Isaac leans down, flicking out his tongue and catching it on Stiles’ upper lip. He chuckles.

“You taste so good.”

“You taste like ice cream,” Stiles says dumbly.

Isaac grins, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You taste like way more than that.”

He rolls off Stiles, sprawling out on the bed beside him, panting. Stiles watches him, wondering if the taste thing is one of those extra werewolf senses or if Stiles just really needs to be licking more flesh. He thinks the latter is definitely true, regardless of the former.

He turns onto his side towards Isaac, curling his legs up, the familiar cold starting to creep back in. He thinks about getting under the blankets but he’s not intending to stay much longer. He needs to take his pills. He needs to knock himself out. He feels like this might do a good enough job right now though.

“You never answered my question,” Isaac says, turning his head to look at Stiles.

Stiles frowns at him. “Did you ask me a question?”

Isaac smiles at him, amused. “About the anchor,” he says. “But I’m guessing the answer’s no.”

“I didn’t feel it,” Stiles agrees. “But maybe that’s just because I already have my anchor. It might work on somebody else.”

Isaac sighs, turning onto his side and looking at Stiles’ forearm that lies on the pillow between them. He looks hungry and it makes Stiles want to shy away.

“Can I have some now?” Isaac asks, practically licking his lips.

“Some pain?” Stiles asks tentatively. Isaac nods, eyes fixed on Stiles’ flesh. “That didn’t help make you feel better?”

“It did,” Isaac agrees. “But that doesn’t last very long in my experience.”

“Do you, uh, do you have a lot of experience?” Stiles asks. It feels pathetic how intimidating he finds the prospect.

“Once with Allison,” Isaac says. “A few times with Erica. Almost with Jackson one time.”

“Jackson?” Stiles asks incredulously.

Isaac grins. “He was totally game,” he insists. “Matt was controlling him though so I got cockblocked.”

“Jackson?!?” Stiles asks again.

Isaac rolls his eyes. “Can I have some now?”

Stiles pulls his arm back, not done with this yet. “So you and Allison…”

“We didn’t put a label on it,” Isaac says. “But we talked about it. It was what we both wanted. We just never really got a chance.” His eyes drift away, fixed on a memory. “But then I watched her die in Scott’s arms, talking about how she loved him, so it probably wasn’t the real deal.”

Stiles feels it like a punch to the gut. He knows all about being the one on the sidelines, the one who doesn’t get the girl, but this just seems especially cruel. Grief and rejection mixed into one must be a lot to bear. Isaac eyes up Stiles’ arm again and Stiles wants to help, feels responsible enough for all this that he has to, but not like this.

“I don’t think it’s healthy,” he says. “Me hurting you.”

“Strictly speaking I’m hurting myself,” Isaac says.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Stiles tells him.

“I used to be able to take the beatings,” Isaac says, a faraway look in his eyes. “He’d scare the shit out of me but I knew he wasn’t going to kill me. Probably. But when he fucked with my head. When he played mind games or he locked me in that freezer. Black eyes and bruised ribs, you can nurse them, you can watch them heal, you get better. The pain goes away. The stuff in my head, I’m stuck with that, even if he’s gone. And now I have Allison in there too.”

Stiles feels sick, the reality of Isaac’s life, the reason he took the bite. It beats all of Stiles’ worst nightmares. “The freezer wasn’t physical?” he asks, remembering his own dreams of being stuck in the locker, his fists banging on the door.

“You don’t fight it after the first couple of times,” Isaac says. “You just wait it out. Just you and your thoughts and the terror of what he might do next.”

Stiles swallows uncomfortably. “I am so sorry you went through that.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Isaac tells him, reaching out to trace a finger over Stiles’ wrist. “Pity does about as much good as sorry does.”

Stiles feels that familiar guilt creep over him again. He lifts up his arm, offering it out, already feeling like this is a very bad idea. Isaac grabs him, holding on tight as he starts to take the pain. Stiles can feel it instantly, the relief from deep down inside as it starts to ease. He feels the pressure in his head release, the ache in his bones fading. He feels lighter, like a literal weight has been lifted.

He looks at Isaac, the way he bites down on his own lip, and Stiles can tell from how much better he feels that he’s taking too much. He tries to pull back but Isaac latches on with a growl. Stiles panics, wondering if they can do real damage by taking it too far. He sits up, yanking his arm with all his weight, feeling pathetically weak as Isaac holds so effortlessly on.

Isaac looks up at him, his eyes glowing amber, and Stiles flails, the fear giving him a spike of adrenaline that finally lets him break free. Isaac drops back on the bed, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh. It looks shamelessly sexual but Stiles is trying very hard not to notice that. When Isaac opens his eyes again, they’re normal. Stiles sags with relief.

“And then it gets better,” Isaac says, a blissful look on his face as Stiles’ pain starts to ebb away from him.

Stiles watches him, not sure what to do or say, wanting to lecture him on how dangerous that was, how it’s definitely not going to help the PTSD his childhood has clearly left him with, but Isaac looks so at peace that he can’t bring himself to do it.

“It’s okay,” Isaac tells him. “You can go.”

“Right,” Stiles says, remembering how desperate he was to do that moments earlier.

He gets to his feet, considering his clothes before he looks down at the state of himself. He picks up Isaac’s shirt from the floor, cleaning himself up

“You couldn’t use one from the hamper?” Isaac asks.

Stiles looks around. “You don’t have a hamper.”

“Fine,” Isaac dismisses.

“You don’t have much of anything,” Stiles comments.

“I was a fugitive,” Isaac reminds him, yanking at the blankets to pull them up over himself. “They don’t let fugitives pack up their rooms.”

Stiles picks up his clothes from where they’re scattered across the floor, starting to get dressed. “Your life is like a Shakespearian tragedy.”

“I’m holding out hope for a really good farce,” Isaac responds.

“Well, soft core porn will have to do for tonight,” Stiles says. He pulls his hoodie on, considering Isaac. “Are you going to tell anyone about this?”

“Who do you think these allusive friends are that I’m going to tell?” Isaac asks.

“You don’t talk to Scott?” Stiles asks. “You’re in his pack.”

“Should I report everything to my Alpha?” Isaac asks. “We don’t talk. Not like that.”

“Okay,” Stiles responds.

“The stench of your regret is ruining my afterglow,” Isaac tells him.

“It’s not regret,” Stiles insists. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling right now but he doesn’t think it’s regret. Maybe it’s just the struggle of trying to work out where he belongs and the desperation of wanting to control his own narrative until he understands it.

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Isaac says pointedly, snuggling down into the blankets.

“Yeah, night,” Stiles agrees.

He opens the door slowly, peering down the hall to make sure the coast is clear. He creeps towards the stairs, making it almost all the way down when the front door opens. He panics, wanting to hide, but he just freezes a couple of steps from the bottom as Scott comes in the door, closing it behind himself. He stops when he sees Stiles, looking bemused.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” Stiles returns. “I was just on my way out.”

“What are you doing here?” Scott asks.

“Nothing,” Stiles dismisses, trying to play it cool. “Just stopped by.”

Scott takes a step closer, considering him. “You smell like sex.”

Stiles gives him an irritated look. “I am sick of you werewolves using your supernatural powers to invade my privacy.”

Scott tries to hide the glee on his face as he glances up the stairs and then back to Stiles. He takes another step forward. “Isaac?”

“No,” Stiles says indignantly.

“No?” Scott asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Your mom,” Stiles responds defiantly. “Yeah, I was sexing your mom, which makes me practically your step-dad so you better watch how you talk to me, young man.”

“Stiles!” Melissa yells from the top of the stairs.

Stiles jumps, stumbling down the last two steps as he tries to turn, holding onto the banister.

“Go home,” Melissa tells him.

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles agrees. “Gotta go,” he tells Scott, dodging past him towards the door.

“We are going to talk tomorrow,” Scott tells him.

“Yeah, we are,” Stiles agrees. “About your _date_.”

All the confidence goes from Scott’s face, replaced with fumbling guilt. “I…”

“Boys,” Melissa prompts.

“Later,” Stiles says, slipping out of the door.

The morning isn’t a time when Stiles feels equipped for a conversation like this, when his brain feels covered in cobwebs and stung by hornets. He got home late so his hangover is worse than ever, not enough hours to sleep the drugs properly out of his system. Still, he’s getting in there first, because if they spend enough time talking about what a bad friend Scott is for leaving him out of the loop then maybe they won’t get around to whatever the hell is going on with Stiles, as though he even understands it himself.

He jumps out of his jeep when he sees Scott pulling up, striding across the parking lot towards him. “Remember when we had that conversation about sharing the mundane things in our lives?” he asks.

Scott looks sheepish, putting his helmet on his bike as he steps away. “I would have shared,” he says. “It was kind of last minute and you were with Lydia. But I guess I could have called.”

“Next time call,” Stiles agrees. “Or at least text. I don’t want to be the last know. I might not be in the pack…”

“You’re in the pack,” Scott insists.

“…but I’m still your best friend,” Stiles finishes. “Right?”

“You’re in the pack,” Scott says again.

“I’m not sure that’s the best place for me,” Stiles dismisses.

“Where is this coming from?” Scott asks.

“You had two humans in your werewolf pack,” Stiles points out. “One of them was weak enough to get possessed by a thousand-year-old Nogitsune and the other one didn’t have the healing powers to deal with a samurai sword. Maybe you should stick to supernatural beings. Better all around.”

“If you don’t want to be a part of it, I totally understand and I respect that,” Scott tells him. “But you have a place. You’re an important part of the pack. You always work it out.”

“You defeated me without me,” Stiles responds. “And we are getting way off topic. The date. Kira?”

Scott smiles. “Yeah. Kira.”

“So?” Stiles prompts.

“It was good,” Scott says. “Really good. She’s fun to hang out with and I just feel like she gets me. I actually really like her.”

“That’s great,” Stiles says.

“I really like her,” Scott nods.

“That’s a good thing,” Stiles agrees.

Scott turns to face him. “And you and Isaac?”

“No,” Stiles dismisses, starting to walk. “There’s no me and Isaac.”

“Something happened,” Scott prompts.

“Something did,” Stiles agrees. “But that was ill-advised and our guards were down and it won’t happen again.”

“Okay,” Scott says, trying to hide a smirk.

“I’m serious,” Stiles insists. “I can only deal with my crazy right now.”

“You’re not crazy,” Scott tells him.

Stiles glances at Lydia and Malia sitting at the picnic table they’re approaching. “Let’s just keep it between us, okay?”

“Best friend stuff,” Scott says. “Not pack stuff.”

“Exactly,” Stiles agrees, feeling a little lighter at the thought of there being a difference.

They sit down at the table, Lydia looking up from the tablet she’s studying. “Did you do something fun last night?” she asks Stiles.

“He did,” Scott agrees.

Stiles gives him a look. “You lasted five seconds.”

“That doesn’t count,” Scott dismisses.

Lydia gives a little huff, rolling her eyes. “Well, whatever killed that guy in the woods could be just about anything in here, so while my evening was educational, it doesn’t help us right now,” she says, putting the tablet down on the table.

“Are we allowed to talk about things in front of Stiles now?” Malia asks. “I’m just trying to keep up, you people are exhausting.”

Stiles smiles at her. “Yeah. You can talk. We’re trialling a new no secrets policy. Though I reserve the right to put my fingers in my ears and sing lalala if it gets too real.”

“You went through all that and you’re going to be scared by one person getting eaten?” Malia asks.

“I don’t think any of us should think that’s normal,” Stiles responds. He looks at Scott. “My dad said animal attack, right? Do you think werewolf?”

“I don’t know,” Scott says, shaking his head. “There were no claw marks and I wasn’t getting an animal scent.”

“Oh, great,” Stiles says. “New scentless evil. I think I’m out.”

“I thought you were a badass,” Malia comments.

“You were sadly mistaken,” Stiles tells her.

“You really were,” Lydia agrees.

Isaac approaches the table, looking down at Lydia. “Are you done with that?”

“Why, can you suddenly read it?” Lydia responds testily.

“I just want it back,” Isaac says. “I promised Argent I’d look after it.”

“Hmm,” Lydia says, handing the tablet over. “Nothing to do with the cute selfies that are on there?”

“Why were you going through her photos?” Isaac asks, hugging the tablet to his chest.

“Because she was my best friend,” Lydia responds. “And if I want to sit in bed and cry over adorable pictures my best friend took when she thought she looked pretty, I will.”

“Do you want a copy?” Isaac offers.

Lydia shakes her head. “They were hers.”

Isaac looks down at Scott. “Are we going hunting tonight?”

“Hunting sounds a bit aggressive,” Scott responds.

“No, you’re right, we should wait until this thing kills another person,” Isaac says dryly.

“We’ll scout out the woods,” Scott says.

“If you can take time out from your busy dating schedule,” Isaac shrugs.

“If you can take time out from your ice cream sandwich schedule,” Stiles counters.

Isaac stares at him blankly and then looks back down at Scott. “I’ll see you later.” He walks away, still hugging the tablet.

Scott looks at Stiles. “Did he just give you the cold shoulder?”

“No,” Stiles responds. “And I wouldn’t care if he did.”

“What’s going on?” Lydia asks.

“Nothing,” Stiles says firmly. “Absolutely nothing is going on. Ever again. I have to go to class.” He stands up and takes a step before realising he’s going to be following Isaac. Following him like a pathetic puppy. “I have to go the long way,” he says, turning around and walking in the other direction.

Stiles makes the decision to stay out of the investigation. It’s better that way. Let the supernatural teenagers deal with the evil. He’s struggling enough to keep his head above water as it is. Lydia helps, catching him up on the schoolwork he’s missed and making him feel like less of an underachieving mess. He’s not sure how much of it is to do with her exceptional tutoring skills and how much is this bond they have. He feels safe when he’s with her, like he can’t get lost because she’ll hold him tight, and it almost makes him believe that he’s okay.

He and Scott find time to hang out too, like the old days, like their lives aren’t in constant peril. It’s nice. Stiles didn’t realise how much he’d missed this simplicity, always looking for the next adventure, as though there were any excitement in the things they faced, the things they were capable of. Scott can’t leave that world, Stiles knows that, but at least he can protect himself. Stiles can’t save any of them.

They play video games like they’re normal teenagers, laughing and joking and having a good time. Stiles almost believes it. If anything can cut through the disconnect he feels, it should be this. Maybe if they do it for long enough it will be.

“Hey, boys,” Stilinski greets when he gets home, leaning in the doorway and looking at the TV. “Been a long time since I’ve seen that in action.”

“Hey, dad,” Stiles says, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Have you eaten?” Stilinski asks.

“Yeah,” Stiles tells him.

“Did you save me anything?” Stilinski asks.

“Uh, no,” Stiles replies. “We’re bad people.”

Stilinski comes into the room, sitting at the other side of Stiles on the couch and leaning around him. “Have you had any more thoughts about this attack?” he asks Scott.

Scott pauses the game and Stiles throws his arms up in the air, exasperated.

“I don’t know,” Scott says, shaking his head. “I’ve been out there most nights this week with Isaac and Malia but we haven’t found anything. We’ve been trying to research but we haven’t got much to go on.”

“Maybe it was just an animal attack,” Stiles says hopefully. “Maybe it was a coyote. A real coyote. Not a coyote that’s actually a girl. Those still exist, right?”

“It wasn’t an animal,” Scott dismisses. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“Great,” Stiles says, staring at the paused screen.

“You don’t have any theories?” Stilinski asks him.

“Me?” Stiles asks, turning to face him. “So long as I didn’t do it, I don’t care.”

“You’re not lead investigator?” Stilinski prompts.

“I’m retired,” Stiles tells him, looking back at the screen. He doesn’t miss the look his dad and Scott exchange. “Are we playing?” he asks.

“I’ll leave you boys to it,” Stilinski says, getting to his feet.

“Prepare to be annihilated,” Stiles says, unpausing the game. Scott immediately pauses it again. “What?” Stiles demands.

“I’m just going to get a drink,” Scott says. “I’m thirsty.”

“Right,” Stiles says, slouching back into the couch as Scott follows after Stilinski. “I might kill you while you’re gone,” he calls after him, gesturing at the screen.

He lets the controller fall limply into his lap, the frustration making his fingers drum against his thigh. This is important, he knows it is, and he chose to remove himself from it so he can’t be surprised to find himself alone. When you fill your life with mundane things, you’re never going to be a priority.

He gets to his feet, sticking his head around the kitchen doorway. “I’m actually going to head to bed,” he says, Scott and Stilinski looking up from their conversation.

“We’re not finishing the game?” Scott asks.

“It’s getting late,” Stiles dismisses. “The earlier I take the pills the better. Have to get the full benefits.”

“Okay,” Scott agrees. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Night, dad.”

“Goodnight, son,” Stilinski says, looking weary.

Stiles makes his way up the stairs and he intends to keep going, take his pill, pass out, but instead he sits down halfway up the stairs, leaning against the bannister so he can hear them.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Stilinski asks.

“He’s been through a lot,” Scott responds. “I think he will be.”

“Pulling away from his interests,” Stilinski says. “That’s a red flag, isn’t it? Withdrawing. Giving up.”

“He’s not giving up,” Scott says. “He’s making a few adjustments.”

“He was a damn good detective,” Stilinski says. “Amateur detective. And a pain in my ass. But I miss that passion. He seems like he’s not even there most of the time. I just wish he’d stop taking those pills. He doesn’t need them.”

“I think he’s just scared,” Scott says. “We need to give him some time.”

Stiles looks down, tugging at the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be certain that the door inside him is closed, that something else won’t use his weakness to take advantage. He doesn’t want to be a vessel. He doesn’t want to be a weapon. If that means keeping himself in this half-state of numb misery, he’ll take those pills every day for the rest of his life.

“We just need to be there for him,” Scott says.

“Yeah,” Stilinski agrees.

Stiles gets to his feet, creeping up the stairs. Isaac is right, pity isn’t helpful.

He tries to make an effort with his dad the next morning, put on a smile over breakfast and take an interest in his day. Fake it until you make it. He has a feeling his dad is faking it as much as he is though. Stiles wishes he could be real with him, wishes they could confide in each other rather than having clandestine conversations with other people, but he wouldn’t know where to start. He doesn’t want to be a worry but he doesn’t want to be a threat either. He’s not sure where the middle ground is yet.

When he gets to school the next day, Scott’s bike isn’t there. He waits in his jeep, wanting to talk to him, to apologise for being an idiot last night, but at five minutes before first bell, he’s still not there. He spots Isaac and Malia walking together into the school and rushes to catch up with them.

“Hey,” he greets a little too desperately, grabbing their attention. “Do you know where Scott is?”

“He went to see the body,” Malia tells him.

“Again?” Stiles asks.

“They only found it this morning,” Malia responds.

Stiles is hit with that familiar sinking feeling. “There’s _another_ body?”

“Some jogger found it on their morning run in the woods,” Isaac tells him.

“Oh, god,” Stiles says, feeling himself spiral as his heart hammers in his chest. “This is not good. This is so not good.”

“You might want to breathe,” Malia tells him.

“I’d love to,” Stiles say hysterically.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Isaac tells him.

“No,” Stiles says. “This is just going to keep happening.

“At least it’s not happening to you,” Isaac offers.

Stiles gives him a dark look before he turns his attention down the corridor. “I need Lydia.”

“Your security blanket?” Isaac asks snidely.

“I need some air,” Stiles says, looking towards outside.

“Stiles,” Isaac says, his tone gentler.

He reaches out, trying to put a hand on his shoulder, and Stiles instinctively draws away, spinning towards the doors and bumping full body into Lydia.

“Hey,” she says softly.

She reaches down, twining their hands together, and Stiles sags against her, his forehead resting on her shoulder. He takes some deep breath, tainted by her perfume but no less refreshing. As his heart calms, he becomes aware of Isaac’s hand resting on the back of his neck where it must have landed when Stiles flailed away. It reminds Stiles of the way he touched him when they were kissing, the safety and comfort it gave him, the way his body so effortlessly responded like it was the most straightforward thing in the world. He feels a blush rising up on his cheeks as he can’t get the image out of his head, his body prickling with heat.

He shrugs out of the touch as subtly as he can, pulling away from Lydia whilst still keeping hold of her hand. He stares at the floor, not daring to look at Isaac, worried about what he might see there. He can probably already smell it all over him.

The bell rings and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief, turning to Lydia. “Want me to walk you to class?”

“Okay, sure,” Lydia responds.

Stiles drags her away, grateful for the excuse to leave.

He can’t think about anything but the body all morning and he hates the fact that he doesn’t feel powerless so much as useless. He’d usually have a case board up by now, putting together the links that no one else was, following leads, but instead he’s sitting here like it might all go away if he just doesn’t think about it. It’s such a cowardly thing to do and he can’t respect himself for it.

He really does need to keep on top of his schoolwork though. He really does need to keep himself out of danger so no one else gets hurt trying to rescue him. He’s not sure that really justifies separating himself from this completely.

Scott is back by lunchtime and Stiles stands across the cafeteria, watching him in discussion with his pack. Two werewolves, a werecoyote, a banshee and a kitsune. With all those powers, they should be able to solve this. Stiles considers going to sit outside, leaving them to it, but he doesn’t want to be on his own. Besides, he has to admit that he’s at least curious.

He goes to sit at their table and Scott stops talking, offering him a genuine smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Stiles returns. “Sorry about last night.”

“It was late,” Scott dismisses.

“It wasn’t that late,” Stiles says.

Scott shrugs and the table lapses into awkward silence. Stiles – conversation murderer. It’s a step up from people, he supposes.

“So,” he says, looking at Scott. “Another body?”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees, nodding.

“Same thing?” Stiles asks.

“Looks like it,” Scott responds. “Eaten, no claw marks, no animal scent. I can’t pick up anything.”

Stiles purses his lips together, thinking. “Victimology?”

“Both men in their twenties,” Scott says.

“So probably fit,” Stiles considers. “In their prime maybe. So why not go for someone weaker? Do they like the challenge? Do they feed off the power?”

“I thought you weren’t getting involved anymore,” Isaac points out.

“I’m not,” Stiles dismisses, picking at his food. “I’m making conversation.”

“But two is a coincidence, right?” Lydia points out.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, frowning. He looks up at her. “You didn’t find this one?”

“I’m not responsible for every dead body in this town,” Lydia responds.

“Kind of your area of expertise though,” Stiles says.

Lydia fixes him with a look. “If you’re not nice to me, I won’t let you hold my hand anymore.”

Stiles smiles, looking down at his food.

“How long have you guys been dating?” Malia asks.

“What?” Stiles says dumbly, turning to face her.

“Oh, we are not dating,” Lydia says, her eyes wide and indignant.

“You don’t have to say it like that,” Stiles responds.

“No, sweetie,” Lydia says condescendingly. “No.”

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“You weren’t cheating on her with me then?” Malia asks.

Lydia looks between the two of them. “What’s that?”

“This just got interesting,” Isaac chimes in.

Stiles looks around the table, wishing for the earth to open up and swallow him. That never happens when he wants it to though. He turns to Malia. “I was very single when I met you,” he assures her. “And continue to be so.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Malia agrees.

“Excuse me?” Stiles asks.

Isaac laughs, looking like he’s enjoying this far too much.

Malia shrugs. “Offer’s still there anyway.”

Isaac leans across the table, sobering up all of a sudden. “What offer?”

“Not to you,” Malia dismisses. She stops and looks Isaac up and down, considering him. “Actually, maybe you too.”

Isaac raises his eyebrows, looking at Stiles.

“Malia,” Stiles says. “You’ve been having werewolf lessons with Scott, right?”

“Mmmhmm,” she agrees.

“I think you could probably benefit from some teenage girl lessons too,” Stiles says. “Lydia?”

“I could teach you how to do your hair,” Lydia offers.

“That’s not really what I had in mind,” Stiles says, giving her a look.

“Girls talk about all kinds of things when they’re doing their hair,” Lydia says.

“I can do my own hair,” Malia responds.

“I can do it better,” Lydia says. “Come to my house tonight.”

Malia pulls a face. “Fine.”

The conversation moves on, Kira telling an amusing story about her dad, and Stiles relaxes. It feels better to have asked the questions, to not hide from it. Questions are safe enough, if he just ignores the fact that curiosity killed the cat.

That evening, Scott turns up at Stiles’ house with a foil covered dish. Stiles ushers him inside.

“Dad,” he calls. “Melissa made good on that casserole.”

Stilinski comes out of the kitchen, taking the dish that Scott offers out and considering it. “Does this mean we have to make her something?”

“Not if we’re those guys,” Stiles dismisses.

“Hmm,” Stilinski says. “Are you having some?”

“Sure,” Stiles agrees.

“Scott?”

“I already ate,” Scott tells him. “Thanks.” Stilinski takes the dish through to the kitchen and Scott turns to Stiles. “I actually can’t stay, I’m going to Kira’s, my mom asked me to drop that off on the way.”

Stiles nods. “Date night?”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees. “And I’m telling you this time.”

“You are,” Stiles states. “I appreciate it. Where are you taking her?”

“Movies,” Scott says.

“Classic option,” Stiles responds.

“Did you have any thoughts?” Scott asks.

“For movies?” Stiles says. “I don’t know what’s playing.”

“Not that,” Scott says. “The bodies. The attacks.”

Stiles’ stomach does a little flip. “I don’t have any thoughts about that.”

“Are you sure?” Scott asks. “Because you seemed interested earlier. I’m open to suggestions.”

Stiles shakes his head. “You know I don’t want to be involved.”

“But if you came up with any theories…” Scott says, raising his eyebrows. “I know how your brain works. No way you’ve stopped thinking about this. Well, this and your little love triangle.”

“I am not in a love triangle,” Stiles insists. “Malia doesn’t even want a relationship. I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“Okay,” Scott says, backing away towards the door. “But any conversations you do want to have, let me know. Supernatural or mundane, I’m here for it.”

“Noted,” Stiles tells him. “Go have fun.”

Scott is right of course, he is thinking about the bodies. As much as he doesn’t want to know, as much as he wants to distance himself from anything remotely supernatural, he can’t help being intrigued. He can’t resist puzzles. Riddles. Maybe that’s why the Nogitsune chose him. The thought physically makes him shudder and he reaches down, touching his own arm and trying to believe that it belongs to him. No one can make him do anything he doesn’t want to do.

He grabs his bag, remembering his dad’s words as he shakes out one of the anxiety pills. Nobody knows what he needs except him. Maybe they saw what he did, maybe it happened to them, but they didn’t do it. They can still trust themselves. He’s stuck with the responsibility of never letting it happen again. He swallows down the pill, closing his eyes. Sedatives take all the strength out of him and that means he’s not capable of hurting anyone, no matter who tries to make him.

That weekend, he and Scott arrange to go bowling. It’s such an inconsequential pastime that Stiles finds himself looking forward to it more than he has anything in a long time. He’ll lose, he knows that, he’s no match for werewolf senses, but getting out of the house for something fun is exactly what he needs. Maybe he should have suggested they do this sooner.

He picks Scott up on the way, like the old days, and he could almost believe they’re any set of kids on a Saturday night. That is, until Scott gets a text message.

“We need to go to the woods,” he says urgently.

Stiles groans. “Are you kidding?”

“I’ll make it quick, I promise, we can still go bowling,” Scott insists.

“Is that Lydia?” Stiles asks.

Scott looks sheepish. “It’s your dad.”

“My dad sends you dead body notifications now?” Stiles asks incredulously.

“He’s giving me ten minutes before he calls for back up,” Scott says. “I need to take a look before the deputies get there.”

“I cannot believe you’re making me go see a dead body with you,” Stiles grumbles, turning the jeep around.

“You remember how I got bit, right?” Scott says, amusement in his voice.

“Yes, I remember,” Stiles responds shortly. “I’m driving to the woods, aren’t I? I’m driving to the goddamn crime scene.”

When they get there, Stilinski is stood by his car with a flashlight in his hand. Scott jumps straight out of the car, going over to him. Stiles hesitates, wanting to stay in the car where it’s warm and reasonably safe, but he can’t help himself, he wants to know what’s going on. He climbs out of the car as Scott goes over to look at the body. Stiles keeps his distance.

“Pretty sure this is against protocol,” he points out.

“I’m calling it in in five minutes,” Stilinski responds. “I think Scott will be able to tell me more than the deputies can anyway.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Stiles agrees. He looks over, watching Scott crouched on the ground.

“You’re not going to take a look?” Stilinski asks.

“I’m definitely not,” Stiles says, turning back around. He takes a breath to steady himself. “Who is it?”

“I don’t have an ID yet,” Stilinski says.

“Male?” Stiles asks. “Twenties?”

“Sounds about right,” Stilinski agrees.

Stiles nods. “Three times is a pattern,” he mutters to himself.

“What are you thinking?” Stilinski asks, stepping closer.

“I’m thinking I would have worn a bigger sweater if I knew I was coming out here,” Stiles responds, pulling his sleeves down over his hands.

Stilinski nods slowly, considering him.

“Looks the same as the others,” Scott says as he rejoins them. “There’s footprints though. Definitely not from an animal.”

“I noticed that too,” Stilinski agrees. “You want to take a look?”

They both walk off towards the body, pausing for a moment before starting to walk further into the woods.

“Really?” Stiles calls after them. “You’re going to follow the footprints? You’re going to leave little human me all by himself to maybe get eaten?”

“You’re fine,” Scott calls. “We’re not going far.”

“Unbelievable,” Stiles yells.

He watches them merge into the darkness, wrapping his arms around himself against the chill in the air. Definitely should have worn a bigger sweater. He edges forwards, wanting to keep them in view, but he knows he’s just edging closer to the body. He gets up on his tiptoes, seeing blood and flesh through the grass.

“Oh god,” he moans, shuffling backwards. He rubs his hands against his arms. “This is a very bad idea.”

“Are you cold?”

Stiles spins around, nearly falling on his ass. Isaac offers him a half smile.

“Oh my god, Isaac, you can’t just creep up on people in the dark in the middle of the woods,” Stiles says. “Next to a crime scene! What is wrong with you?”

“Sorry,” Isaac says. “I wasn’t creeping.”

“What are you doing out here?” Stiles asks.

“Scott text me,” Isaac responds, holding up his phone in defence.

“Of course he did,” Stiles says. “You have a group chat you all talk in?”

“No,” Isaac says. “Do you want to borrow my scarf?”

“Why would I want to borrow your scarf?” Stiles asks.

“Because you’re cold,” Isaac responds.

Stiles turns away, trying not to wrap his arms around himself again, but it’s like an instinct. Isaac steps up beside him, draping his scarf around Stiles’ neck. It’s warm from Isaac’s body and it comforts something inside him.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, tugging it tighter.

“You’re welcome,” Isaac responds, going over to the body.

Stiles watches him examine the area, something almost studious about him. It makes Stiles feel calm.

“There’s footprints,” Isaac says.

“Yeah, Scott and my dad are following them,” Stiles agrees.

“They’re facing away from the body,” Isaac says, clearly puzzled.

“So?” Stiles asks.

“So why would something that was eating him not be facing him?” Isaac asks.

Stiles frowns. “Could they be from someone protecting him?”

“It doesn’t look like there was a struggle,” Isaac says, stepping further away. “And the footsteps that lead away are calm. Steady.”

“That’s weird,” Stiles says, the puzzle getting caught in his head, even as he tries to let it go.

“They stop at the stream,” Scott says, coming back into view.

“Maybe they walked downstream,” Isaac says.

“Maybe,” Scott agrees. “We won’t find them if they did. Even if we could pick up a scent here, we can’t follow it in the water.”

“What if they knew that?” Stiles asks. “They could be doing it to hide their tracks.”

“Now he’s getting into it,” Isaac says appreciatively.

He moves towards the stream as Scott and Stilinski come back to Stiles. Scott considers him for a moment, tilting his head.

“What?” Stiles asks.

“Are you wearing Isaac’s scarf?” Scott asks.

“No,” Stiles says instinctively.

Scott raises his eyebrows at him. “Stiles, I’m literally looking right at you.”

“He gave it to me,” Stiles says defensively. “I was cold.”

“Okay,” Scott agrees. “We should probably get out of here.”

“You all should,” Stilinski says. “I’m calling it in.”

“I’m going to investigate the stream,” Isaac tells them.

“It’s not safe out here alone,” Scott says.

“I’m not alone,” Isaac responds, looking behind them. They turn to see Malia.

“This town is messed up,” she says. “I preferred being a coyote.”

“Yeah, you tell us at least twenty times a day,” Stiles says. He turns to Scott. “Can we go?”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees. “Guys, stick together.”

“And stay out of the deputies’ way,” Stilinski adds. “I do not need you two brought in for questioning.”

“I’m good at being stealthy,” Malia assures him.

Stiles climbs into the jeep, watching Scott have an exchange with his dad before joining him. He could ask but he decides that he really doesn’t want to know. His brain is already on overload.

“You’re still wearing Isaac’s scarf,” Scott points out.

“I’m cold,” Stiles says defensively, starting the engine. Scott smirks. “What?”

“He’s scent marking you,” Scott says.

“He’s what?” Stiles demands.

“He’s making you smell like him,” Scott says slowly, his eyes still shining with amusement.

“Is that a werewolf thing?” Stiles asks. “Is he going to pee on me next?”

“It’s nice when people smell like you,” Scott shrugs. “It’s comforting.”

Stiles touches the scarf absently before he catches himself. He puts both his hands decisively on the steering wheel. “You werewolves are really weird.”

Bowling is fun but somehow anticlimactic in the face of their detour. Stiles can tell Scott is distracted, constantly checking his phone for news from Isaac and Malia, or maybe from Stilinski. Stiles doesn’t ask. He has to admit his mind isn’t really on the game either. There’s little details that are stuck in his head, like puzzle pieces he can’t quite fit together.

He drops Scott off and heads home to an empty house. His dad will probably be dealing with the body for a while. He takes a shower and gets into his pyjamas, rubbing his hands together nervously as he stands in the middle of his room. If it was a school night he would take his sleeping pill now so he could get up in the morning, but it doesn’t matter what time he gets up tomorrow. He could stay up a while. He could turn on his computer and browse the web. Innocently. With no agenda.

He sits down, his fingers drumming on the table while his laptop powers up. He checks his emails, browses social media, wasting time as his heart starts to beat faster in his chest. He sags back on his chair, acknowledging what he wants to do. But research is safe, isn’t it? Being informed is a smart thing to do. That doesn’t mean he has to go out where the bad things are. It doesn’t mean they’re going to creep in his bedroom window at night and get him.

He leans forward with determination, tapping queries into Google. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for, something that eats young men in their prime, but then he ends up on a particularly graphic page about cannibals that makes him feel like he’s going to throw up. He slams the lid of his laptop down, his ears ringing.

“That is enough of that,” he tells himself.

He gets to his feet, pacing his room as his hands flap by his sides. He wonders if he should phone Lydia, wonders how mad she would be about having to make a house call, wonders if it would be too late by the time she got here. He remembers what she told him, how he had to start dealing with this himself. Find the root. Pull it out. The root is death, it’s blood, it’s killing. It’s the fact that he’s crossed the line and that has to change him, right? It was so easy for his body to do those things. Maybe there’s no line at all. Maybe they’re all just hanging by a thread.

He looks down to see his hands shaking. He can barely even feel them. He clenches them into fists and forces himself to take a deep breath. This is just a panic attack. It isn’t going to kill him. It isn’t going to kill anyone else. He closes his eyes, trying to go to his happy place, but he doesn’t even know where that is. He thinks of Lydia, the warmth of her hand, the calmness that comes over him. He thinks of Malia, the acceptance of her touch, the way she saw him as more than just a crazy person. He thinks of Isaac, the heat of his body, the way he took his pain. He thinks of his mom, the way she used to tuck him in at night and kiss his forehead and tell him that she loved him.

A tear rolls down his face, a sob escaping his mouth, but at least that means he’s breathing. He wipes at his damp face, opening his eyes to find the world still there. Maybe it’s not the one he wants but it’s the one he’s got and he has to work out how to live in it.


	3. Chapter 3

When he gets up the next morning, brain struggling to wake up, he expects to have the house to himself, but when he gets downstairs he finds his dad sat at the dining table with his Sherriff’s uniform on, sipping coffee and looking impatient.

“Hey,” Stiles greets, going to grab himself some cereal. “I thought you’d be too busy today for a leisurely breakfast.”

“I am,” Stilinski agrees. “I wanted to catch you before I went.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, getting the milk from the fridge. “Okay.”

“I was going to talk to you last night but when I went to check on you, you were dead to the world,” Stilinski says.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, coming to sit down with him. “Sweet oblivion.”

Stilinski frowns at him, looking concerned, and Stiles feels that familiar heaviness weighing down on him.

“Sorry,” he says. “What did you want to talk about?”

Stilinski puts his mug down on the table, leaning forwards. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

“That’s a worrying start,” Stiles says, spooning cereal into his mouth and trying to think about what he might have overheard.

“But the other night,” Stilinski says. “When Scott brought the casserole round. I could hear you two in the hallway.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles says instinctively as he tries to recall the conversation.

“Yeah,” Stilinski says. “It’s just, he mentioned a love triangle.”

Stiles lets his head fall back in frustration. “There’s no love triangle.”

“No,” Stilinski says. “Because Malia doesn’t want a relationship?”

“Oh god,” Stiles says, putting his face in his hands. “That’s not even… That’s not a problem. I’m not in a love triangle.”

“I was trying to work out who the other person was,” Stilinski continues.

“Please stop,” Stiles begs.

“I thought it was probably Lydia at first,” Stilinski says.

“Definitely not Lydia,” Stiles says, shaking his head.

“No,” Stilinski agrees. He waits for Stiles to look up at him before he continues. “It’s Isaac?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, looking away. “I feel like I’m going to hyperventilate. I feel like I might pass out right now.”

“You don’t have to be worried about my reaction,” Stilinski says earnestly, reaching across the table and putting a hand on Stiles’.

Stiles stops. “Wait, is that what this is?”

“I’m here for you,” Stilinski tells him.

“Okay,” Stiles says hesitantly, still trying to get his head around what’s happening. “Hang on, how did you know about Isaac?”

“Last night,” Stilinski says. “You were wearing his scarf.”

“Why is everyone so hung up on the scarf?” Stiles asks. “It was cold.”

“It was more Scott’s reaction,” Stilinski says. “And how coy you were being about it.”

“I am not coy,” Stiles dismisses, pulling his hand back to scoop up some more cereal.

“You have tells,” Stilinski says. “And I am fine with whoever you want to date. Boys or girls or, I mean, there’s more options nowadays, right?”

“Like werewolves and werecoyotes?” Stiles asks.

“That’s not really what I meant,” Stilinski says. “But if you’re dating, I feel like we should talk about that.”

Stiles pauses with the spoon halfway to his mouth. “Is this about to become a sex talk? Because we did that. We really don’t need to talk about it ever again. Ever. Please.”

“Be careful,” Stilinski tells him. “And pace yourself.”

“Pace myself?” Stiles repeats, wondering what kind of sex advice his dad is giving him.

“You don’t have to do everything right now,” Stilinski tells him. “With everyone.”

“I’m not,” Stiles assures him. “Me and Malia was before, it was Eichen House, I was basically a different person then.”

Stilinski looks appalled. “At Eichen House?” Stiles nods. Stilinski shakes his head. “Those orderlies are doing a terrible job.”

Stiles snorts a laugh. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Stilinski focuses on him again. “So it’s not a triangle? It’s just you and Isaac?”

“No,” Stiles insists. “Me and Isaac, that was a one time thing. I don’t even like him.”

“Well, if you’re exploring things, I understand,” Stilinski says. “You’re at an age where you might be feeling curious. Also, in my experience, people don’t share clothes with one night stands.”

“I was cold!” Stiles says indignantly. “People get cold.”

“Maybe you should dress warmer next time,” Stilinski suggests, getting to his feet. “I have to go to work. Try to stay out of trouble.”

Stiles gives him a look. “What am I going to do?”

“Do you want me to answer that?” Stilinski asks.

“Please don’t,” Stiles responds, turning his attention back to his cereal.

“Well, listen, I just want you to know that you can talk to me about this stuff,” Stilinski says. “That probably seems incredibly uncool to you, but I’m here.”

Stiles smiles at him. “Thanks, dad. Really.”

“We have to stick together, you and me,” Stilinski says, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. “Don’t shut me out.”

Stiles looks down, feels tears prick at his eyes. “I’m not trying to.”

Stilinski puts his hand on his shoulder. “I love you.”

Stiles looks up, not expecting the words, or the way Stilinski’s voice cracks. He nods his head, trying not to let the tears spill over. “I love you too.”

Stilinski nods, squeezing his shoulder before letting his hand fall away. “I’ll see you tonight.”

As soon as Stiles hears the door close behind him he pushes his cereal away from himself, his appetite gone. He sits with his head in his hands, hating the fact that his pain is hurting his dad too, that he can’t keep it to himself.

He decides to make amends by doing every chore he can think of in the house. He does the washing up, tidies the kitchen, goes through the house getting rid of old newspapers and junkmail, hoovers every room, does the laundry. When he’s collecting clothes from his room he sees Isaac’s scarf on his chair where he threw it the night before. He considers it for a moment, if Scott and Stilinski are right, if a scarf isn’t just a scarf. He shakes his head, grabbing it and throwing it in with the rest of the dirty clothes.

The next day at school, Scott and his pack are still discussing the bodies. Stiles listens, taking the information on board, but his brain doesn’t really do anything with it. There’s something that’s still nagging at him, something that he can’t quite work out, but he’s not going to start researching again, not after the results he came up with on Saturday night.

He tries to concentrate in his classes, determined that he won’t let Lydia’s kindness getting him back on track go to waste, determined that his grades aren’t going to be another thing for his dad to worry about. His head hurts, his body still never quite comfortable, but this is something that’s in his power. It has to be.

The class before lunch is gym, and Stiles dreads using his body more than he does his mind. They’re playing dodgeball and Stiles quickly decides it’s less painful to get hit once and sit out than have join in with the actual game. The last two players are, predictably, Scott and Isaac. Stiles finds himself enthralled, watching their quick reactions, the way they get their bodies out of the way of the ball. It’s becoming dangerously close to showing some abilities that normal teenage boys shouldn’t have when Coach decides to step in.

“You know what, I haven’t got all day, let’s just call it a draw,” he says.

Isaac grins, turning to face Coach, and is immediately hit in the face with a dodgeball. He turns to Scott, glaring. “That doesn’t count!” He turns back to Coach. “You already called it.”

Coach blows his whistle in Isaac’s face. “Scott’s team wins.”

“What?” Isaac demands.

“It’s so inconsequential I can’t seem to care,” Coach says. “Everybody go get changed.”

Isaac approaches Scott as they file into the locker room. “That wasn’t very sporting.”

“You’re just annoyed you didn’t think of it first,” Scott responds.

Isaac smirks at him. “Maybe.”

“I am the Alpha,” Scott says with mock bravado. “Gotta keep you in your place.”

Isaac laughs. “Sure,” he says, heading over to his locker.

Scott turns to Stiles. “You went out early.”

“Sometimes the only way to win is not to play,” Stiles comments. Scott frowns at him, face full of concern, and Stiles instantly feels like a burden. “I got to wear sweats and sit on a bench,” he says lightly. “It was probably the best class I’ll have all week.”

Scott nods but there’s something tentative about it. They get dressed, Stiles idly contemplating his lunch options as they head for the door. He glances back, seeing Isaac sorting out his things, and he feels a tug as he remembers the scarf he has in his bag, the scarf he for some reason hasn’t given back yet. He chooses to put it down to absentmindedness rather than any of the more sentimental options.

“I left something in my locker,” he tells Scott. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”

“Okay,” Scott agrees.

Stiles walks back into the locker room as the last of the guys walk out, leaving him alone with Isaac. He swings his bag off his shoulder, reaching inside and taking out the soft material.

“I, uh, I forgot to give you this back,” he says, offering it out.

Isaac turns to look at him. “Oh,” he says, staring at the scarf, and Stiles wonders if he imagines that offended look in his eye. “Thanks,” he says, reaching out to take it. He leans into his locker to put it away but then pauses, bringing it closer to his nose. “You washed it.”

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugs. “Seemed like the polite thing to do.”

Isaac’s jaw twitches as he throws the scarf carelessly into his locker, swinging the door shut, and Stiles feels like he suddenly gets it. He didn’t just want the scarf to make Stiles smell like him. He wanted to get it back smelling like Stiles.

“Sorry,” he says.

“What?” Isaac asks in a way that sounds just oblivious enough to be believable. Stiles shakes his head. “Are you going to lunch?” Isaac asks.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. Isaac goes to take a step away and Stiles reaches out a hand to stop him. “Listen, uh, are you doing okay?”

Isaac stares at him like the words don’t make any sense. “Am I doing okay?”

Stiles gets the impression that he’s not used to being asked that question and it hurts to think of him suffering in silence, locking it all away. He deserves so much better than what he got.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks plainly.

Isaac looks at him for a second and then his mouth lifts in the tiniest little grateful smile. He nods his head, his eyes trailing downwards, over Stiles’ arm, to his wrist. “Are you?”

Stiles lifts up his arm in offering. Isaac meets his eyes, looking for confirmation, before he wraps his fingers firmly around, Stiles struck by the warmth of him before he fully registers the lightening of his pain. Isaac doesn’t cling to him like he did before, a clear act of desperation, just holds him firmly for a moment before he lets his grasp loosen. He doesn’t move away completely though, fingertips grazing over Stiles’ flesh, watching himself.

“It’s not as bad as it was,” he says.

“No,” Stiles agrees, only really realising it when Isaac points it out.

“It was like a razorblade before,” Isaac says, still looking at his fingers on Stiles’ arm.

“Probably not as useful now,” Stiles comments.

Isaac looks up at him. “It wasn’t just for me. When I grabbed you in the library. And the other times.” He looks back down, pulling his hand away. “When Scott first showed me that I could do that, it kind of changed everything. I didn’t know that I had the potential to do anything but hurt. It was all about the power for me. I’d never had any. I liked it. I never thought about using it to protect anyone else.” He looks up at Stiles through his lashes. “I think about it now.”

Stiles moves forward, surging upwards to join their mouths together, needing to be closer to him, and this is as close as he knows how to get. Isaac does that little growl, pressing his body into Stiles’, pinning him against the locker. It’s a rush of heat and need, their tongues sliding together as they grab at one another, dragging each other closer. Isaac’s hand slides inside Stiles’ T-shirt, fingers splaying over his lower back, and Stiles’ hips give with a whimper, tilting forward. Isaac grinds against him, making sweat prickle up on Stiles’ flesh, an itch he wants to scratch over and over.

“Lahey! Stilinski!” Coach yells.

They jump apart, turning to face Coach, and Stiles knows that panting and wide-eyed is probably not a good look right now but he doesn’t have much control over that.

“Hey, Coach,” Isaac greets, trying to sound nonchalant.

Coach gapes at them, hands on his hips. “What the—” He stops himself, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. “You know what, I don’t want to know. Go do that somewhere else where it’s not my problem.”

“Sure thing, Coach,” Stiles agrees, more than happy for the chance to escape.

“Goddamn hormonal bastards,” Coach mutters as he heads into his office.

They get out into the hall and Isaac laughs, looking lighter than he did before. He looks at Stiles. “You want to go do it somewhere it’s not his problem?”

Stiles knows that he’s joking, but he still feels bad about not playing along. It’s like stepping into sunlight at the end of a movie, everything stark and real and a little bit painful. He likes it when his eyes are closed and Isaac is pressed against him, but it’s hard to get that feeling back when he’s stood in a school corridor.

“I’m supposed to meet Scott for lunch.”

Isaac nods. “I’m supposed to meet Lydia with the bestiary.”

“That is not a woman you want to keep waiting,” Stiles comments.

“Yeah,” Isaac agrees. He hesitates, considering Stiles for a moment, before he looks away. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, giving him a nod before they head their separate ways.

He finds Scott in the cafeteria with Malia and Kira.

“I thought you got lost,” Scott comments as he sits down with them.

“Coach asked me to do something,” Stiles says, keeping his eyes trained on his lunch. It’s not a lie, strictly speaking.

“Is that why you’ve got Isaac’s scent all over you?” Scott asks, smirking.

Malia leans across the table, sniffing at him.

“I am sick of you werewolves,” Stiles says, throwing them irritated looks.

“Werecoyote,” Malia corrects, sitting back in her seat.

“Prying into my personal life,” Stiles continues.

“You’re hooking up with Isaac now?” Malia asks. She doesn’t seem concerned, just curious.

“Can never have a secret,” Stiles adds, because it’s easier to keep complaining, playing the victim, than trying to put a name on whatever this thing with Isaac is. “Smelling what I’ve been doing and who I’ve been with and what I’m feeling. And then there’s Lydia, with her _feelings_.” He turns towards Kira. “Do you know everything about me, as well?”

Kira stares at him, like a deer in the headlights, awkwardly finishing her mouthful before she speaks. “I know we have history class together.”

“She’s my favourite,” Stiles proclaims.

“Are you better at it yet?” Malia asks.

Scott snorts a laugh as Stiles stares at her incredulously.

“ _You_ I could fall out with,” he says, jabbing a finger at her. She shrugs, unconcerned. Stiles glances at Scott and then leans across the table towards Malia, whispering urgently. “You said it wasn’t bad.”

“I told you I liked it,” Malia points out. “Do you think I’d lie to hurt your feelings?”

“Literally never,” Stiles responds.

“I’m going to try it with someone less insecure next time,” Malia states, looking idly around the cafeteria.

“That’s harsh,” Stiles mutters.

“I was thinking about the attacks,” Kira says a little too loudly, and Stiles is grateful for her valiant attempt to change the subject. “You guys lost it in the water, right? What if it’s some kind of water demon? Maybe that’s why we can’t find it hiking through the woods.”

“The water could mean something,” Scott agrees.

Stiles tunes out, picking at his food. He doesn’t feel like the water’s the right detail to focus on but he can’t put his finger on why. It’s like there’s something just on the tip of his tongue but it won’t come to him. He doesn’t trust his own instincts much anymore, doesn’t even trust his own perceptions completely.

He doesn’t see Isaac for the rest of the day, a fact that wouldn’t normally register in his mind, but he can’t get that kiss out of his head, a rush of sensation accompanying it. He thinks about how it felt to be pressed up against that locker by Isaac’s body, all the things that they could have done if they weren’t interrupted, but then how much worse it would have been to get interrupted later. He would never have been able to look Coach in the eye again. Probably good that he found them when he did.

The house is empty when he gets home, and Stiles finds himself wandering around the rooms restlessly. It’s not like being home alone is new to him, it’s never bothered him before, but he craves company lately. He thinks about going to Lydia’s, asking if they can do their homework together, but he knows it’s not fair to constantly take up her time. He can be by himself. He can do his own schoolwork.

He’s hunched over an economics textbook when his dad gets home, tempted to just smash his face into it and see if he can learn by osmosis.

“Hey,” Stilinski greets, standing in his doorway. “I was at the pharmacy, I picked up your prescriptions while I was there.”

“Oh, thanks,” Stiles says, reaching out to take the bag. He’s not near the bottom of his pill bottles yet but it’s nice to know these are here when he needs them.

“Have you eaten?” Stilinski asks.

“No,” Stiles says, opening up the bag and taking out the pills. “I can come help.” He frowns when he looks down at his hand, staring at the bottle. “This is Adderall.”

“It’s one of your prescriptions,” Stilinski responds.

Stiles looks up at him. “You know I’m not taking Adderall.”

Stilinski shifts on his feet, sliding his hands into his pockets, an obvious attempt to look casual. “Maybe you should be.”

Stiles stares at him. “I’m not taking them.”

Stilinski gives him a long-suffering look. “You have a condition for which you were prescribed Adderall.”

“That was before I was prescribed something else,” Stiles says.

“Stiles, this needs to stop,” Stilinski snaps. “Look, I’m sorry, but the walking on eggshells isn’t working.”

Stiles shrinks away, gripping the pills in his hand. He has that shaky feeling, the one that usually leads to a landslide. Stilinski sighs, everything about him looking heavy. He grabs a chair, pulling it over so he can sit in front of Stiles.

“You are treating symptoms that don’t exist,” he says plainly, looking him in the eyes with such broken concern. “You need to wake up.”

The words send Stiles spiralling into his own brain, all the times he couldn’t wake up, and he feels the panic rising in him. What if he is still dreaming? What if he never woke up? What if this is his dad trying desperately to get through to him? His eyes well up, a tear sliding down his cheek, but he can’t lift a hand to wipe it away.

“I don’t want to upset you,” Stilinski says. “That is the last thing I want to do. But you have to hear this.”

Stiles nods. He doesn’t doubt that. He meets his dad’s eyes. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he whispers, like saying it out loud will give the words too much power.

Stilinski shakes his head. “You never did.”

Stiles feels the shame creeping over him. “When the Nogitsune did all those things,” he says. “When he was playing with all of you. When he was making people suffer. I didn’t just see it. I _felt_ it. I felt how good it made him feel. It feels like it was me.”

“It wasn’t,” Stilinski says, his voice kind but firm, a voice Stiles wants to believe because it’s never steered him wrong.

He looks down at the pills in his hand. “Do you know these are amphetamines?”

“Yeah,” Stilinski agrees. “I research my kid’s medication.”

“Right,” Stiles nods. “You’re the one who convinced me to take those sleeping pills. Remember?”

“You needed to sleep,” Stilinski says. “Desperately. I would have knocked you out with a brick if a doctor told me it would help.”

Stiles smiles. “Glad I got the pills then.”

“And I don’t mind you taking those,” Stilinski tells him. “I know you’ve always had trouble sleeping, since you were a kid. You need to be careful, they can be addictive and that’s a whole other problem, but it’s those other pills I want to throw in the trash.” He looks at Stiles’ books. “How’s the homework going?”

Stiles shifts in his seat, trying to navigate the sudden conversational turn. “Okay.”

“Really?” Stilinski asks sceptically. “Concentration levels high? You’re retaining what you’re reading? Your thought process is nice and ordered?”

“My thought process has never been ordered,” Stiles dismisses.

“Are you struggling?” Stilinski asks earnestly.

Stiles looks down, not wanting to admit it, because that’s just one more thing for his dad to worry about, and if he’s right about that then he can’t cling onto his chemical comfort blanket anymore. “I can’t deal with the anxiety,” he says, his voice pleading. “It’s bad enough with the drugs, if I stop I might just fall off the cliff completely.”

“Adderall helps anxiety,” Stilinski points out.

“Well, that depends how much you take,” Stiles counters.

Stilinski gives him a look, tapping the instructions on the bottle. “How about you take what it says here?”

“Yeah, that might be a good start,” Stiles agrees. He looks up at Stilinski. “But if it gets bad…”

“Take a sick day, I’ll take a sick day, we’ll ride it out,” Stilinski says.

Stiles feels the tears springing to his eyes but he wipes them away this time. “Thanks, dad.”

Stilinski nods. “We’re going to take the Adderall tomorrow?”

Stiles looks at it, feeling a tightness in his chest, but he can’t argue with the logic. He has to do this for his dad. He has to try. He owes him that much. “Okay.”

Stilinski smiles, full of genuine relief. “So,” he says, getting to his feet. “Did you say something about helping with dinner?”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, taking a steadying breath as he wipes his eyes dry.

He manages to get through his reading after dinner but he feels like it all scatters straight out of his head again. His dad’s right, he’s not going to last the year like this. Giving himself power always has the potential to give it to something else though.

That’s the thought that spirals in his head the next day when he shakes an Adderall into his hand. He stares it down like it’s something he has to conquer.

“I’m not going to hide it in some luncheon meat and feed it to you.”

Stiles looks up to see Stilinski watching him from the doorway. It gives him a feeling of déjà vu and he tries not to see it as dreamlike but most things seem dreamlike when he’s coming off the sleeping pills in a morning.

“You don’t need to trick me,” he assures his dad.

Stilinski nods. “Don’t be late for school.”

Stiles is expecting another pep talk, or maybe just for his dad to wait until he’s swallowed it, but he leaves him alone with the decision. It feels like a big responsibility but he knows what the right thing to do is. He’s probably known it all along. He swallows down the pill and grabs his bag, heading out of the door before he can let the panic set in.

He doesn’t usually fully come around from his sleeping pill until after first period so it’s hard to tell if the Adderall is doing anything straight away. It’s halfway through second period when it starts to creep in, but even then he’s not sure he trusts his own perceptions. He can’t tell what’s real anxiety, what’s anxiety about anxiety and what’s the ill-advised mixture of uppers and downers that’s probably in his bloodstream right now. Maybe he should have checked with a doctor. He should ask Melissa about it.

By lunchtime, he has a headache and a general sense of unease that he can’t quite shift. Maybe it’s just his body adjusting, his chemical levels evening themselves out. He sits himself wordlessly opposite Lydia at lunch and holds out his hand, giving her a pitiful look. Lydia places her own hand in his, considering him.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he dismisses. “I just feel weird today.”

“Weird how?” she asks, looking him over.

“Not supernatural weird,” Stiles says. “Just average teenage boy suffering from anxiety and possible PTSD weird.”

“Well, we got your back on that,” Lydia tells him.

“Yeah,” Scott agrees.

Stiles nods. “I’m adjusting my medication so just be ready to take me down if I try to kill anyone.”

Without warning, Scott punches him hard in the arm. Stiles recoils, gaping at him.

“What was that for?”

“I warned you,” Scott says simply. “I warned you that was going to happen if you start acting like you’re responsible for what the Nogitsune did.”

“I do not feel very supported right now,” Stiles pouts. “Can you at least rub it? I can’t let go of Lydia.”

Lydia reaches across the table, rubbing at Stiles’ sore arm whilst giving him a tight, humouring smile.

“See, this is what a friend looks like,” Stiles says.

“The pain snapped you out of it though,” Isaac comments. “It’s useful.”

“Don’t you start, goth boy,” Stiles complains.

Isaac looks down at himself and then back at Stiles. “I’m wearing a patterned cardigan.”

“Yeah, how does that look good on you?” Stiles demands incredulously.

A slow smile comes over Isaac’s face, his eyes lighting up, Stiles catching what he’s said too late. He looks down, trying very hard not to check if anyone else noticed as he feels the blush rising up on his cheeks.

His mood starts to even out over the next couple of days, the unsettled feeling fading away. He’s still not sure if what he’s feeling is a good thing, but at least it’s consistent. His senses are more awake, tuned in to his surroundings, but being super aware just makes him notice more things he should potentially be worried about, every stimulus bouncing off an anxiety trigger. When he was numb, he could just let it wash over him. He knows that’s exactly why his dad wanted him off those pills.

That night, he gets a phone call from Lydia just as he’s about to knock himself out for the night. He answers the call, automatically expecting the worst.

“Can you come to my place?” Lydia asks. “Something happened.”

“What?” Stiles asks, feeling his chest tighten. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lydia assures him. “I’m back home now. But something happened in the woods earlier I think we should talk about.”

“Have you called Scott?” Stiles asks.

“I will,” Lydia tells him. “I called you first.”

“Why would you do that?” Stiles demands. “What use am I?”

“Because I always call you first,” Lydia says calmly. “Are you coming?”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees. “But you need to call Scott.”

“It’s on my to do list,” Lydia responds.

Stiles drives too fast to Lydia’s house, his heart thundering in his chest, hellish scenarios playing out in his head. It’s far too easy to imagine all these things that he never even knew existed before. He can’t go back now and if his friend needs him then that’s where he has to be.

He’s relieved to see Scott’s bike already in the driveway when he gets there, and then he feels instantly guilty at his relief but he really doesn’t feel equipped to deal with this on his own, whatever _this_ is. He feels his heartbeat rising again and he takes a deep breath to steady himself before knocking on the door.

Lydia ushers him through to her bedroom where Scott is standing by the window and Isaac is, for some reason, inspecting a perfume bottle. Stiles watches him curiously for a moment before Isaac feels his stare, looking up and then slowly putting the bottle down. He turns to lean against the vanity, crossing his arms over his chest as he addresses Lydia.

“Are you going to tell us why we’re here now?”

Lydia sits down on the bed and Stiles instinctively sits beside her, reaching out and taking hold of her hand. He’s not sure if it’s for her benefit or his own.

“Okay, I thought I was dreaming at first,” Lydia begins. “I was out in the woods barefoot but I couldn’t remember how I got there.”

“Been there,” Stiles nods.

“At least I wasn’t naked this time,” Lydia says. “But then I saw this guy and I knew why I was there. I just knew instinctively that I needed to make him look at me. So I just start yelling and hollering and he’s not paying any attention, this guy was on another planet, he was in a trance, he was just dragging his feet slowly along. It was creepy. So I did the only thing I could think to do. I screamed.”

“That would get anyone’s attention,” Stiles agrees.

“He snapped right out of it,” Lydia confirms. “He just stared at me and then he looked around and I could tell he didn’t know how he got there either.”

“Do you think the same thing drew you both out there?” Scott asks.

“No,” Lydia dismisses. “I was definitely there to save him. He was out there following that thing.”

“Wait, what thing?” Stiles asks. “There’s a thing?”

“He was going to be the next victim,” Lydia says. “I know he was.”

“Did you see it?” Scott asks.

Lydia looks thoughtful. “I saw a woman. It was dark, I didn’t get a good look, but she had long dark hair, past her knees. She was turned away, I couldn’t see her face.”

“You think she’s the one attacking these men? Eating them?” Scott asks. “A woman?”

“She wasn’t a woman,” Lydia says, frustration clear in her voice. “I don’t know, I just got this feeling. I know it was her.”

“I guess that could narrow it down a bit,” Scott says, but he doesn’t look hopeful. They need far more to go on.

“Was the guy okay?” Isaac asks.

“Yeah,” Lydia says. “He’s taking me on a date this weekend.”

Stiles stares at her incredulously. “You’re going on a date with some guy you met creeping in the woods?”

“He wasn’t creeping,” Lydia dismisses. “He was drawn out there by whatever that thing was.”

“He was following a woman through the woods,” Stiles says. “I vote for not trusting him.”

“It’s fine,” Lydia tells him. “I can take care of myself.”

“You have terrible taste in men,” Stiles states. “Kanimas and psychotic Alphas.”

“Okay, I think my hospitality just ran out,” Lydia says, letting go of his hand. “You boys can see yourselves out.”

“Thanks for calling us,” Scott says. “It sounds like she hypnotises them and then takes them out to the woods. That’s something we can work with.”

“We should ask Derek, he’s probably having sex with her already,” Isaac says.

“Has anyone seen Derek lately?” Stiles asks.

“I left him a few messages,” Scott says. “He never responded.”

“Should we be worried?” Stiles asks.

“Should we have a party in his loft?” Isaac adds.

“That made him appear pretty quickly last time,” Scott agrees.

“Alright, I need my beauty sleep,” Lydia says. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow.”

Stiles stands up, looking at her. “You’re okay?” he checks.

“Stiles, I’m fine,” she assures him. “I really appreciate that you came out here. Now go home.”

“So you don’t need me, you just wanted to tell me a horror story and give me nightmares,” Stiles says.

“I wanted you to know what happened,” Lydia says. “So you can help me work out what it means.”

“You definitely called the wrong person for that,” Stiles says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He digs his keys out of his pocket as they head outside, idly playing over Lydia’s story in his mind. Isaac glances at Scott, getting his bike ready to leave, and then walks towards Stiles as he unlocks his jeep.

“Do you think I could get a ride?” he asks. “Two guys on that little bike doesn’t add up so well.”

“Two strapping werewolves,” Stiles comments.

“Right,” Isaac says.

Stiles thinks about how much he wants to be in bed right now. It’s not too out of his way to take Isaac though and he wouldn’t hate having some company. “Jump in.”

Isaac grins, practically skipping around to the other side of the car. “I’ll see you at home,” he calls to Scott.

Scott raises his eyebrows at Stiles before pulling his helmet on.

“Shut up,” Stiles tells him, climbing into the car.

“What do you think?” Isaac asks him once they’re on the road.

“What do I think about what?” Stiles asks.

“The cannibal woman in the woods,” Isaac says.

“Oh,” Stiles responds. “Yeah, I’m trying very hard not to think about that actually.”

“These are not the problems I thought I was going to have to deal with in high school,” Isaac agrees.

“Do you ever regret it?” Stiles asks. “Taking the bite?”

“I might be dead if I didn’t,” Isaac says. “So overall I guess it was the right choice.”

“Why would you be dead?” Stiles asks.

“I might not be,” Isaac dismisses. “But I would have still been cowering against that wall, bleeding. I don’t know what would have happened after that. Nothing good.”

Stiles grips the steering wheel harder, feeling the rage simmering inside him. “I wish you dad was still alive so I could punch him in the face.”

Isaac smiles at him. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He sighs. “My dad probably would have died that night whatever I did though, right?”

“Jackson was pretty determined,” Stiles agrees. “Or Matt was.”

“And they’d still think I did it,” Isaac says. “But I wouldn’t have had any friends or any way to clear my name, so I guess I’d be in jail right now if I didn’t take the bite.”

“You wouldn’t last two minutes in jail,” Stiles says.

“Then I guess I don’t regret it,” Isaac says. He looks at Stiles. “Do you want to park up somewhere and make out?”

“In the jeep?” Stiles asks. “That sounds uncomfortable.”

“More uncomfortable than up against a locker?” Isaac asks, giving Stiles a predatory look.

Stiles feels himself blush, trying to fight back the mental images, and he’s certain Isaac must be able to smell it all over him. Maybe that means he should just give in. “Your bed was very comfortable,” he says, keeping his voice level and his eyes on the road.

“It’s a good bed,” Isaac agrees. “Do you want to make out on that?”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles responds, and he suddenly finds himself driving with more urgency than when he was on his way to Lydia’s.

They make it up to Isaac’s room without Scott seeing them and Stiles is grateful. He doesn’t want to have that awkward conversation right now, even if Scott probably figured out this was going to happen before Stiles did.

Isaac closes the door softly and then leans against it, pulling Stiles towards him. Stiles doesn’t fight it, leaning his body into Isaac as he joins their mouths together. He’s immediately enveloped in warmth, Isaac’s arms wrapping around him and holding him steady, making him feel like the ground is solid beneath him. It’s something he never takes for granted nowadays.

He tilts his head, parting his lips, and Isaac opens so easily to him with a sigh, letting Stiles swipe his tongue inside. It all feels so unrushed, the opposite of being slammed against a locker, being consumed by his own hormones. Maybe it’s because it’s late, Stiles reasons, and life has been just too exhausting lately. It feels good to have something slow and steady.

Isaac’s hands slide under Stiles’ T-shirt, fingertips exploring his flesh, swiping over his ticklish sides and making Stiles flinch, nearly biting his own tongue. Isaac chuckles right into his mouth, pressing his palms against Stiles’ back and pulling him closer, their bodies flush together. Stiles makes an appreciative noise, one of his hands sliding into Isaac’s hair, angling his head, kissing him deeper.

Isaac’s hands slide out of his T-shirt, Stiles wanting to protest, but then they’re on his shoulders, pushing his hoodie out of the way, and Stiles relents his grip, helping to shake the sleeves from his arms. Isaac goes for his T-shirt next and Stiles pulls it off with him, pressing their mouths back together as he tugs at the hem of Isaac's shirt, shifting back to tug it off. He falls back against Isaac as he tosses it away, both of them panting and flushed as they stare at each, skin sticking together.

“Didn’t you say something about the bed?” Stiles asks.

Isaac grins at him. “Getting a little weak at the knees?”

“You’re the one leaning against a door,” Stiles points out.

Isaac pushes forward with his hips, knocking Stiles backwards as he steps forward, raising his eyebrows. Stiles rolls his eyes, taking another step back as he grabs Isaac’s belt buckle, unfastening it as he pulls him towards the bed. He works the button of his jeans loose and then lets go, toeing off his own shoes and climbing onto the bed.

Isaac stands at the foot of the bed, keeping his eyes locked with Stiles as he strips down to just his underwear. Stiles can appreciate the efficiency, freeing himself of his own jeans as Isaac crawls up the bed to join him. He lays himself down on top of Stiles, covering his body with his own, and Stiles likes the feeling of being surrounded by him. It feels safe.

He tilts his head back, waiting for Isaac to kiss him, but Isaac presses his face into Stiles’ neck instead, inhaling him deeply. It makes Stiles shiver, sliding his hands up Isaac’s back, Isaac arching into the touch. Stiles can feel all the muscles under his skin and it makes him press his hips upwards. Isaac lifts his head, looking at Stiles for a moment before he brings their mouths together.

Stiles feels like they’re kissing with their whole bodies, the slide of Isaac’s tongue matched by the push and pull of their hips, the way their hands explore one another, everything moving in waves. Stiles lets himself melt into it, his body moving on instinct, feeling lighter than he has in a long time.

When he has to pull his mouth away to breathe, because apparently werewolves have a much bigger lung capacity than him, Isaac’s lips move back to Stiles’ neck, brushing over the flesh before leaving open mouthed kisses there. Stiles keeps his eyes closed, one hand stroking through Isaac’s hair as he just lets himself feel, let’s himself trust this. He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to work it out. All he knows is that he wants more. He wants to exist in a series of moments exactly like this.

Isaac moves further, teeth grazing Stile’s collarbone, mouth exploring his chest, hot and wet and hungry. As he keeps working his way down, Stiles sucks in his stomach as Isaac’s lips drag over the flesh, feeling Isaac smile against him. Stiles opens his eyes, gazing down his own body as Isaac’s teeth tease at the waistband of his underwear. He looks up at Stiles, eyes shining, before he nuzzles at his hard cock through the thin material of his boxers. Stiles’ whole body tightens.

“Oh god,” he whimpers.

Isaac looks incredibly pleased with himself as he does it again, breathing in Stiles’ scent as his fingers toy with his waistband.

“That-” Stiles begins haltingly, feeling like the words are going to choke him. Isaac lifts his head, looking at him. “That’s, uh, that’s not-” Stiles tries.

“Not..?” Isaac prompts teasingly.

“That-” Stiles says helplessly.

“Okay, how about just a yes or no,” Isaac says.

Stiles takes a shaky breath. “Yes,” he says, even though he knows there’s a distinct possibility he’s about to embarrass himself. Right now, that’s not nearly enough of a deterrent to turn this down. “Yes, please,” he breathes, letting his head fall back on the pillow.

“Now that’s what I like,” Isaac says gleefully, pulling Stiles’ underwear down.

Stiles lifts his hips, closing his eyes and starting to hum a little tune, wanting something to take the edge off. He wants to enjoy this, which means it needs to last longer than ten seconds. He shudders as he feels Isaac’s breath against his cock, his attempted song turning into a high-pitched whine as Isaac’s tongue licks flatly over the head of his cock. He shoves his own fist in his mouth, trying to stay quiet, feeling like his entire body is about to snap like a rubber band.

Isaac’s lips close around his cock and Stiles nearly jumps off the bed, Isaac’s hands going to his hips to hold him steady. Stiles reaches blindly down with his free hand, placing his hand apologetically over Isaac’s, thumb rubbing over his knuckles. Isaac lifts his own hand, twining their fingers together as his mouth edges down Stiles’ cock. Stiles grips him tightly, biting down on his own hand, his whole body shaking.

Isaac doesn’t take him all the way in but he experiments with it, lips dragging over Stiles’ dick, tongue exploring and seeking. There’s a hint of teeth too, enough to make Stiles flinch at one point, but he kind of likes how clumsy it is. It makes Stiles feel just a tiny bit more together. He opens his eyes, gazing down and blinking a few times to try and clear the bleariness away. The sight of Isaac’s lips stretched over his cock makes a wave of too hot arousal roll through him. He takes his hand out of his mouth, gesturing to Isaac.

“Get up here.”

He tugs at Isaac’s hand, Isaac sliding his lips off Stiles, and as soon as the air hits his wet dick, Stiles is tempted to push him straight back down again. Isaac’s cheeks are flushed and his pupils blown wide, his chest heaving with every breath, and Stiles grabs at him, needing him now. Once Isaac is back on top of him, Stiles slides his hands down his back, fingers catching on his underwear.

“Take your stupid clothes off,” he complains.

Isaac laughs, breathy against Stiles’ cheek as he lifts his hips, pushing his boxers down. “You’re fun when you’re like this.”

“I’m always fun,” Stiles tells him, grabbing him by the back of the neck and dragging him into a kiss.

It’s needy and all consuming, their bodies fitting together, cocks trapped between them. It’s just sensation upon sensation and Stiles doesn’t even try to fight it. Isaac reaches down, hand sliding to Stile’s thigh, pulling his legs further apart. Isaac settles snugly between Stiles’ legs, their cocks pressed tightly between their pelvises, and it’s like everything slots into place. Stiles arches his back, his mouth falling away from Isaac’s as he pants, sweat sliding over his body.

He slides his hand between them, squeezing both of their cocks together between his fingers, feeling the slickness of precome over both of them. Isaac shudders, burying his face in Stiles’ neck, breathing him in. Whatever scent he’s picking up sends him over the edge, coming over Stiles’ fingers and his stomach, body convulsing against Stiles with a helpless noise.

Stiles let go of him, the wetness of Isaac’s come making his hand move fluidly over his own dick, the knowledge of just what it is turning him on even more. He doesn’t tease himself, uses every familiar move he has to just get himself there. Isaac groans against him, his hand sliding from Stiles’ thigh, in between their bodies, thumb rubbing harshly over the head of Stiles’ dick, and that’s all Stiles needs, coming into his own hand as the pleasure rolls through him, contracting every muscle in his body before it gives and he melts into the bed, Isaac boneless on top of him.

Stiles slides his messy hand out, considering it. He can’t tell whose come is whose but he kind of likes that. He looks around, seeing Isaac’s abandoned underwear on the edge of the bed, and he reaches for them, wiping off his hand. He can feel Isaac’s steady breaths against his neck and he feels like they could lull him off to sleep, something nothing but chemicals have done in a long time. He shifts, brushing his lips against Isaac’s temple before he lines them up with his ear.

“It’s getting kind of hard to breathe,” he says apologetically, because he knows he’ll regret it as soon as Isaac moves.

“Sorry,” Isaac mumbles, rolling off him, leaving Stiles feeling predictably cold. He shifts closer to Isaac so that their bodies are touching.

“I, uh, I’m going to do that,” Stiles says awkwardly. “I’m going to return the favour.”

Isaac opens his eyes, smirking at him. “You’re going to suck my cock?”

“That,” Stiles agrees, feeling himself blush. “I’m going to do that. Later. Not today. I have to go home.”

“You could stay,” Isaac suggests, his eyes slipping closed again.

“I don’t have my pills,” Stiles tells him.

“Your sleeping pills?” Isaac asks.

“Mmm,” Stiles agrees.

“You don’t seem like you need them,” Isaac says.

“Not to sleep maybe,” Stiles says, the heaviness of his eyelids proof enough. “But to not sleepwalk and commit possible homicide, the jury’s still out.”

“Hmm,” Isaac considers. “I have chains. Do you want me to chain you up?”

Stiles stares at him. “Why do you have chains?”

Isaac opens his eyes. “Two teenage boys who also happen to be werewolves living under one roof. There’s a lot of hormones and pheromones. We keep the chains just in case.”

“Our lives are not like other people’s,” Stiles says. “I have to go.” He forces himself to sit up, looking at his clothes scattered over the floor.

“You let me know when you want to return the favour then,” Isaac tells him, his eyes slipping closed again.

Stiles watches him, wondering what the hell he’s getting himself into. He climbs off the bed, pulling on his clothes, Isaac already asleep by the time he leaves the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles meets Scott and Lydia in the school library, still feeling far too dosed up from his sleeping pills. He hasn’t had nearly enough hours to work them out of his system. Lydia is typing rapidly into her laptop while Scott contemplates a crudely hand drawn map of the woods. Stiles puts his textbooks down on the table in front of him and then folds his arms on top of them, resting his head down like a pillow.

“Late night?” Scott smirks.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “Someone dragged me out to tell me about some creepy guy she hooked up with in the woods.”

Lydia kicks him in the shin under the table. Hard.

“Ow,” Stiles complains, lifting his head to give her a wounded puppy look.

“I did not hook up,” she says. “I saved a life and gave you a vital clue.”

Stiles huffs, putting his head back down on his folded arms. He feels fingertips dragging across the back of his neck and shivers, looking up to see Isaac smiling at him on his way past, going to sit at the end of the table.

“No,” Stiles says, sitting back in his chair and glaring at Isaac.

“No?” Isaac asks innocently.

“I will punch you in the face,” Stiles tells him.

Malia laughs as she sits down next to Lydia. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Reflexes,” Isaac agrees.

“Plus, you’re scrawny,” Malia adds.

“Can we talk about literally anything else, please?” Stiles asks.

“What did you guys find last night?” Malia asks, turning her attention to Scott.

“Creepy woman,” Lydia says. “I got a bad vibe from her. I don’t think she liked me either though.”

“We should go out tonight, see if we can track her,” Scott says.

Stiles frowns, that same nagging thought still stuck in his mind. “There was only footprints next to one of the bodies, right?”

“The one you came to see,” Scott agrees.

“Why not the others?” Stiles asks.

“The dirt was looser,” Scott shrugs. “And I think her feet were wet.”

That missing puzzle piece suddenly slots into place in Stiles’ mind. “I know this,” he says quietly to himself before looking up at Scott in wonder. “I know this!”

“What?” Scott asks, looking confused.

Stiles reaches across the table, grabbing Lydia’s laptop and turning it towards himself.

“Hey,” she protests.

Stiles ignores her, typing into google and pulling up the page. He turns it towards Scott. “It’s her,” he says. “The Ciguapa. She’s like a siren, she enchants men and then lures them to their deaths. Naked except for her long mane of hair that covers her body, and look.” He taps the drawing on the screen. “Backwards feet. I could never work out those footprints, it was driving me crazy, but it’s because she came _out_ of the stream. You were following her the wrong way.”

Scott reads over the page, Stiles waiting anxiously for him to finish. Scott looks up at him.

“I think you’re right. This makes sense.”

“Yes!” Stiles says. “I make sense.”

“I told you you’re always the one who works it out,” Lydia says.

Stiles smiles at her, a little overwhelmed by his own success. “I think my dad was right about the Adderall.”

Isaac reaches for the laptop, turning it so that the rest of them can see. “Are we sure this isn’t Lydia?” he asks. “Naked, woods, that’s kind of your MO.”

“Excuse me?” Lydia asks. “I saw her.”

“You say you saw her,” Isaac comments.

“How do we kill it?” Malia asks.

“I don’t know,” Stiles admits. “But now we know what it is…”

“I’ll go see Deaton after school, see what he knows about it,” Scott says.

“Good idea,” Stiles agrees. “Hey, do you and Deaton ever just… sit around the animal clinic and hold hands?”

Scott looks at him like he’s crazy. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s your anchor, right?” Stiles shrugs. “He put you under and brought you back.”

“We don’t hold hands, Stiles,” Scott says.

“You should try it,” Stiles tells him. “It feels really good.”

“Mmmhmm,” Lydia nods.

“Yeah,” Isaac agrees.

Scott looks at Isaac, opening his mouth to ask, but Stiles can see the moment when he remembers what Isaac was to Allison, remembers what he wasn’t. “Right,” he says, turning back to Stiles. “How do you even know about this?” he asks, gesturing to the Ciguapa on the screen.

“My best friend got turned into a werewolf,” Stiles says. “You think I didn’t fall down the rabbit hole of every mythical creature there was?”

Scott smiles at him, looking touched.

“If you applied even a tiny bit of that to your schoolwork,” Lydia says.

“I’m doing okay,” Stiles responds. “Now. Thanks to you.”

“Don’t fall behind,” Lydia tells him. “I can’t hold your hand all the time.”

Stiles nods. He doesn’t know if it’s the Adderall or the fact that everything hurts less or just having Isaac as a distraction, but this feels surmountable for the first time. The things he’s been through are finally starting to gain perspective. “I think I’m getting close to the root.”

“Good,” Lydia says. “Pull it out.”

“I’m working on it,” Stiles agrees.

When he gets home after school his dad is sat at the dining table, looking over some files. Stiles stands in the doorway, trying not to bounce on his feet.

“Hey, did Scott talk to you?”

Stilinski looks up at him. “About what? There’s not another body is there?”

“No,” Stiles dismisses, shaking his head. “It’s just you guys seem to be partners on this case.”

“He’s a highschooler,” Stilinski says.

“And yet you call him before the deputies,” Stiles points out.

Stilinski gives him a disapproving look. “What would he be talking to me about?”

Stiles comes into the room. “We think we figured out what it is. I kind of figured it out. I totally figured it out.”

Stilinski smiles at him, amused. “So you’re back to the amateur sleuthing?”

“Dad,” Stiles says, giving him a look. “I’m not an amateur.”

Stilinski laughs, shaking his head. “Okay, what are we dealing with?”

Stiles sits down opposite him. “It’s a Ciguapa.”

“Oh, great,” Stilinski says. “Another word I can’t spell.”

“It’s Dominican folklore,” Stiles tells him. “She seduces men and lures them to their deaths.”

“You never get male demons seducing women to their deaths,” Stilinski comments.

“Well, there’s Encantado,” Stiles says. “That’s a dolphin that could turn into a man in order to seduce and impregnate women. He had to wear a hat though, to hide his blowhole.”

Stilinski stares at him. “Is that real?”

Stiles shrugs. “I kind of take it for granted that all these things are real.” He gets to his feet. “Anyway, I’m going to go research the Ciguapa. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“Do you have homework to do?” Stilinski asks.

Stiles hesitates. “I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do it first,” Stilinski tells him.

“I’m being passionate,” Stiles says, remembering the concerns his dad had shared with Scott, worrying that he was fading away.

“How’s the Adderall working out?” Stilinski counters, and Stiles feels better about trying to manipulate him if his dad is just going to play the same game.

“Smug is not a good look,” Stiles tells him, heading out of the room.

He doesn’t get any homework done that night but stopping people getting eaten seems like a more pressing matter right now. If he can put an end to this then maybe it will go some tiny way towards making up for the things the Nogitsune did. He owes the town this. He owes them so much more.

He finds Scott at his locker the next morning, practically slamming into him with his urgency.

“Did you talk to Deaton?” he asks. “I found out of bunch of stuff last night.”

Scott considers him for a moment. “Are you doubling up on the Adderall already?”

“No,” Stiles says. “No, I’m just… This is excitement.”

“I’m glad you’re excited,” Scott tells him, still looking slightly bemused.

“I’m excited about helping,” Stiles clarifies. “About doing the right thing.”

Scott nods, squeezing his shoulder. “You always do the right thing.”

“I don’t need a pep talk,” Stiles dismisses. “And please don’t punch me in the arm.”

“What did you find out?” Scott asks.

“We need a full moon,” Stiles says.

“We have one coming up in six days,” Isaac says, coming up to join them.

Stiles looks at him. “Do you just follow me around now?”

“Your scent is very potent,” Isaac tells him.

Stiles screws his face up. “That’s disgusting.”

Isaac shrugs.

“Why do we need a full moon?” Scott asks.

Stiles shakes his head, trying to focus. “According to the legends, that’s when you can catch them. But you need a dog with extra toes.”

Scott frowns at him. “What?”

“A black and white dog with extra toes,” Stiles clarifies. “Polydactylic.”

“Where are we going to get one of those?” Scott asks.

“I thought maybe Deaton could help?” Stiles says.

“We should check out animal shelters,” Isaac suggests. “Imperfections like extra toes might mean they’re abandoned.”

“That’s a good idea,” Scott agrees.

“And I’ll check online, see if I can come up with anything,” Stiles says.

The bells rings and Scott grabs his books from his locker, slamming it closed.

“Hey, Stiles,” Isaac says. Stiles looks at him. “Don’t forget you owe me a favour.”

Stiles feels himself blush as Isaac grins at him, turning around and walking off to his class.

“Do I want to know what that was about?” Scott asks.

“Absolutely not,” Stiles tells him. They start to walk down the hall, Stiles turning to Scott. “Do I really have a potent scent?”

Scott hesitates. “I think Isaac is more… intimately acquainted with it than me,” he says carefully.

Stiles feels the blush spread to his whole body as realisation comes over him and he laments that the ground never opens up and swallows you when you want it to, but at Beacon Hills it seems like a distinct possibility. “Can we pretend I didn’t just ask that?”

“I’m already trying,” Scott agrees.

Stiles spends the next few days single-mindedly trying to find a dog. It seems like a safe task to get lost in, something that helps but doesn’t put him in direct danger or force him to read any more horrific accounts of just what they might be dealing with here. It feels like something he can handle, and so he puts his all into it.

“There might be such a thing as too much focus,” Stilinski comments as he stands in the kitchen, watching Stiles make a sandwich.

“We’re up against a ticking clock here,” Stiles says. “Do you want to have to wait until the next full moon to stop this thing? Who knows how many dead bodies you’ll have piled up in the morgue by then. Not to mention, Scott’s dad will probably try and impeach you again.”

“What I’d like is for you to do your homework,” Stilinski tells him. “Deaton can’t find a dog?”

“He’s trying,” Stiles responds. “I’m checking the shelters that are further away, the ones he doesn’t have contacts at.” He picks up his sandwich, turning to face his dad. “And I already did my homework. Free period.”

Stilinski considers him sceptically and then sighs, giving up. “I have to go,” he says. “Text me when you get home.”

“Will do,” Stiles agrees, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Gotta run.”

“Drive carefully,” Stilinski says critically, walking outside with him.

Stiles waves dismissively, climbing into his jeep as he takes another huge bite. When he gets to Scott’s house, Isaac is dutifully waiting outside for him because Stiles made it very clear that they don’t have time to waste.

Stiles prefers it when Lydia comes on these drives with him. Her presence puts him instantly at ease, Stiles is fairly sure being in the same room as her releases some chemical in his brain that makes everything okay, and there’s no subtext there, nothing to second guess. It’s easy.

With Isaac, Stiles feels like a mixture of hormones and wants and questions. One of those questions is whether he should be taking a werewolf away from Beacon Hills when they’ve got a Ciguapa on the loose, even if it’s only for a couple of hours. After dark is when she goes looking for victims and they won’t be back by then.

Lydia is equally important to making sure nothing bad happens he knows, and he’s been taking her away all week. Besides, when she heard Isaac volunteer to go with Stiles tonight she was more than happy to give up her spot, so Stiles guesses she’s had enough of his company for now.

As for the other questions Isaac’s presence brings up, he doesn’t want to deal with those right now.

“How many of these places have you been to?” Isaac asks.

“A lot,” Stiles says wearily. “I’m near the bottom of my list.”

“And nothing?”

“Nothing,” Stiles confirms. “We’re running out of time. I even put an ad up on Craigslist. I got a lot of interesting responses but none of them were about dogs.”

“Well what do you expect with a pretty face like that,” Isaac responds.

Stiles gives him a look, even as he feels himself blush. “I didn’t put a photo up.” He sighs, staring at the road. “I don’t think we’re going to find this damn dog, and if we don’t that means we have to wait until the next full moon which means another month of killing that we’re powerless to stop.”

“Your heart is beating too fast,” Isaac says, matter of fact.

“My heart is always beating too fast,” Stiles dismisses.

“Not always,” Isaac says.

“Oh, right,” Stiles says. “Because you’re just sat there listening to my heartbeat all the time. Freak.”

“Did you know that it sounds totally different when you’re panicking and when you’re turned on,” Isaac tells him. “They’re both racing, but they’re different.”

Stiles takes a couple of level breaths, trying to stay focussed, not let his mind go there, but it’s the intimacy of what Isaac is saying that strikes him more than the images in his head of deep kisses and expanses of flesh. He feels like maybe Isaac knows him better than he knows himself and he’s not sure how to feel about that.

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, concentrating on the road ahead of him, something he can handle. If this car is the only thing he can be in control of, he has to take it, but it doesn’t stop everything else from swamping him as soon as the conversation stalls between them.

“If I can’t find this dog, I’m letting everyone down,” he says.

“When did this become your responsibility?” Isaac asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “I could just really use a win right now.”

“We’ll find it,” Isaac says.

“Don’t you ever think about what happens if we fail?” Stiles asks. Lately he can’t seem to think about much else.

“Usually I ended up in the freezer,” Isaac says casually.

Stiles frowns, his toes curling in his shoes with discomfort. “I wish you wouldn’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking,” Isaac says, matter of fact. “I probably would have been in the freezer.”

“I don’t think that’s healthy,” Stiles says. “Talking about it like that.”

“I’m confronting it,” Isaac shrugs. “It takes the power away.”

Stiles looks at his profile, feeling the wrench in his gut, wanting to hold him, protect him. “He can’t hurt you now.”

Isaac turns to face him. “The Nogitsune can’t hurt you. Some scars you can’t see.”

It’s an hour and a half drive to the two animal shelters, but they don’t find what they need. Stiles climbs back into his jeep, tired and dejected. Three more days until the full moon and the task ahead of them seems more impossible than ever.

He drives in silence, staring at the road, just wanting to be home already. He’s craving his sleeping pill, the great expanse of nothing that comes after it, and he knows that’s a problem, knows enough to know not to say that out loud to anyone, but he can’t seem to care about that right now.

“Can we stop for food?” Isaac asks.

“I told you to eat before we left,” Stiles responds, aware of how much like his father he sounds.

“I did,” Isaac says. “That was hours ago, I’m hungry again.”

“What is this? Werewolf metabolism?” Stiles asks.

Isaac shrugs. “You don’t want some fries? Or a greasy burger with everything on it?”

Stiles hates the way his mouth waters, he just wants to get home, but now that Isaac has put the idea in his head, he can’t ignore it. The rushed sandwich he had earlier was not enough.

“I’ll go to a drive through,” he agrees. “But I’m not stopping.”

He orders fries while Isaac orders half the menu but somehow Stiles still ends up paying. He has to admit that he feels better after he’s eaten, even if it’s just junk food. By the time they get back to Beacon Hills, he doesn’t feel quite so miserable, his mind focussed less on his failure and more on the warmth he gets from Isaac sitting next to him. Warmth and restlessness. And want. The whole night has felt like some kind of subtle foreplay, as though it’s a foregone conclusion where time alone together will end, and he’s definitely not ready to say goodnight.

“My dad’s working the nightshift down at the station,” he says, trying to make it sound like it’s not the most loaded thing he could possibly have said.

“Oh, yeah?” Isaac says. “So you’re going home to an empty house?”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees.

He hesitates, giving himself a chance to back out, giving Isaac a chance to be the one to ask. When Isaac stays silent, the disappointment makes the decision for him.

“Do you want to come over?” he asks. “I do owe you a favour.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Isaac says, managing to keep a straight face for about two seconds before his lips curve into a giant grin.

They’re ten minutes from his house and Stiles doesn’t dare look at Isaac for the remainder of the drive. He can feel the heat in his cheeks, can feel the sweat prickling up on his skin, and he wonders what he smells like to Isaac right now before deciding that he definitely doesn’t want to know.

He pulls into the driveway, killing the engine, and the sudden silence makes him instantly uncomfortable. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, the sound comforting, taking his keys from the ignition and hopping out of the car. He lets them both into the house, Isaac turning to him as soon as the door is closed, looking at him with an expression Stiles can’t quite read.

“See,” Isaac says, reaching a hand out and placing it on Stiles’ chest, his heart. “It’s different now.”

Stiles looks down at Isaac’s hand and part of him wants to ask, wants to understand the subtleties, but he doesn’t like being under such a spotlight. “Come on,” he says, taking hold of Isaac’s hand and pulling him towards the stairs. As they start to climb up he suddenly feels silly holding Isaac’s hand, letting it slip from his fingers. “I’ll show you my room,” he says.

“I’ve been in your room before,” Isaac tells him.

Stiles turns to look at him. He didn’t think Isaac had even been in his house. “When have you been in my room?”

“When you were missing,” Isaac says. “There were some scissors stabbed into the bed and a million red strings all over the place.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, shame clinging to him. “I don’t even remember doing that.” He opens the door to his bedroom, remembering what it was like to come back here and see it. “As terrifying as the blackouts were, it was actually so much worse when I could see and remember everything the Nogitsune was doing with my body.”

“Yeah, both options suck,” Isaac agrees, walking past him and sitting on the bed.

“My dad and I flipped the mattress,” Stiles tells him, as though hiding the evidence can change anything.

Isaac nods. “Are you going to come and join me?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, closing the bedroom door.

He crosses the room, sitting down beside Isaac, and he feels so ridiculously self-conscious, like they’ve never done this before. Maybe it’s just because he’s in his own territory and it makes it feel more real, and maybe like there’s more at stake. He can’t walk away from this, not even after Isaac leaves.

“You don’t have to,” Isaac tells him.

Stiles looks up at him, blinking. “What?”

“Return the favour,” Isaac says. “I don’t care about that. I’d be happy if you just wanted to make out or something.”

“I want to make out,” Stiles assures him. “I want to… return the favour too. But maybe we work up to that.”

“Sounds good to me,” Isaac tells him.

Stiles nods, leaning in to join their mouths. He likes the way they fit together, the way it feels familiar. Despite how jittery and spontaneous he is, or maybe because of it, he’s always found comfort in routine. He lifts his hand up, touching Isaac’s face, feeling the warmth under his fingertips. Isaac’s hand goes to his waist, encouraging him closer, and Stiles parts his lips, catching Isaac’s top lip between both of his own, tugging on it gently. Isaac flicks out his tongue, licking over Stiles’ bottom lip, and Stiles opens up to him with a sigh, inviting Isaac’s tongue to slide over his own.

As the kiss deepens, they gravitate closer together as though pulled by strings. Stiles slides one hand to Isaac’s shoulder, reaching up with the other one to grip Isaac’s bicep, feeling it flex under his touch as he grips Stiles’ waist. Isaac’s other hand goes into Stiles’ hair, cradling his head, and Stiles’ goes with it, craning his neck into the touch.

Something about the move lights up Isaac’s predatory instincts, pulling his mouth away from Stiles’ so that he can lick and kiss and nip at the sensitive flesh on his neck. Stiles doesn’t fight it, even as Isaac starts to nuzzle into his scent. He’s decided to take it as a compliment. He closes his eyes, arching into the feel of Isaac’s fingernails scraping over his scalp. It’s all good feelings, warm feelings, feelings of being wanted. He’s emboldened by it, the effect he has on Isaac making him feel powerful. He uses his grip on Isaac to pull himself forward, straddling Isaac’s thighs so that he’s sat in his lap.

Isaac pulls back, looking up at him and blinking. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Stiles returns, unable to fight the smirk on his lips.

Isaac is flushed and breathless and Stiles feels greedy for him. He presses their mouths together again, Isaac opening to him in a heartbeat, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ back and pulling him closer. Stiles rocks his hips down at Isaac slides his tongue into his mouth, groaning at the duel sensations. He leans his weight into Isaac, knowing he can hold him, shifting himself forward so their cocks rub together through the friction of their jeans.

Isaac’s hands slide down, grabbing his ass with both hands and pulling their bodies flush together. Stiles feels like he’s burning up, kissing Isaac messily as he pushes him backwards, Isaac rocking his hips up to meet Stiles’ thrusts. The heat, the friction, it’s almost unbearable, the pressure building up low in Stiles’ belly as his cock presses against the fabric of his jeans.

Isaac drags his hands back up Stiles’ body, bunching his T-shirt up as he goes, and Stiles breaks the kiss, sitting up to get it over his head. He looks down at Isaac and he likes this vantage point, bracing his hands on Isaac’s shoulders to help his balance as he watches the pleasure and arousal playing over his face.

Isaac holds onto his hips, gazing up at him. “You’d love to ride my cock.”

Stiles blinks, his hips faltering, unable to process the image that gives him. “Uh…”

“That was dirty talk,” Isaac dismisses. “That’s not… I didn’t mean that.”

“No,” Stiles says. “I mean, yeah. I mean…”

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t been thinking about it since he realised that a) he liked boys and b) that’s a thing that boys did with other boys. He doesn’t have those specific fantasies with Isaac though, doesn’t have anything except wet dreams that invade his subconscious and the vaguest of flesh against flesh imagery that gets him off way too quick. And yet his desire right now is so real and present and Isaac-specific that it scares him. He wishes he could work out where the disconnect was.

He looks down at Isaac, realising that his hips have stilled completely and Isaac is staring up at him like he’s done something very very wrong. He looks like a kicked puppy. Stiles sits up, fingertips catching on the fabric of Isaac’s shirt as they trail down to his stomach.

“I want to suck your cock,” he says, the words sounding simultaneously like terrible porn dialogue and the realest thing he’s ever said.

“You don’t—” Isaac begins to protest.

“I know I don’t have to,” Stiles says. “Obviously I don’t have to.” He pauses playing with the hem of Isaac’s T-shirt before he looks up to meet his eyes. “I just really really want to.”

Isaac keeps looking at him with those parted lips and flushed cheeks and cautious eyes.

“Okay?” Stiles prompts.

“Yeah,” Isaac says, his voice hoarse. “Okay.”

Stiles nods, shifting backwards so he can get his feet on the floor. He places a hand on each of Isaac’s knees, pushing them further apart so he can kneel between his feet. Isaac props himself up on his elbows, looking down his own body at Stiles who is face to face with the impressively tented denim of his jeans.

Stiles reaches forward, unfastening the button with unsteady hands, fumbling with the zipper. He hooks his fingers into the waistband, Isaac lifting his hips as Stiles tugs his jeans and boxers down, revealing his cock. Stiles chews absently on his lip, steadying himself on Isaac’s thighs as he moves closer.

The first thing that hits him is the smell; thick, musky arousal. Stiles has smelt it on his own fingers plenty of times, but never up close like this, never pure and first hand. It makes him feel lightheaded, letting his lip slip from his teeth as he runs his tongue over it. Isaac, impatient or perhaps encouraging, reaches down and wraps his hand around his own dick, stroking slowly up and down. It makes the smell even stronger which makes Stiles groan.

He licks his lips again and then leans forward, Isaac playing with the base of his dick as Stiles sticks out his tongue, dipping it into the liquid at the tip. He’s tasted it before, has licked his own hand when he was jerking off, but it was never as thick and sharp as this. He does it again, wanting to work out the subtleties, commit it to memory. It makes his mouth water.

Isaac shifts his hips restlessly and Stiles realises he’s probably being an awful tease. He looks up, meeting Isaac’s eyes, a little half-smile lifting up the corners of his mouth.

“Okay,” he says, more to himself than Isaac, licking his lips as he bends down.

Isaac’s cock is so hot, that’s the first thing he notices as he wraps his lips around the head. It feels like it might sear his tongue. He swallows self-consciously as he starts to suck, the taste becoming more intense, making him groan. Isaac moans back at the feel of it, gripping himself a little harder as his head falls back.

As Stiles edges down, taking in more of Isaac’s length, he tries to work out what to do with his tongue, tries to remember what Isaac did with his. He rests it along the underside of Isaac’s cock, adding to the pressure, which feels good to him, he likes the weight of it, the way it makes the task so all consuming, but he’s not sure he shouldn’t be doing something more fancy with it.

He looks up at Isaac, trying to pick up on any cues, but he’s staring up at the ceiling looking like it’s taking a lot of effort to breathe, his hand all but falling away from his dick. Stiles decides to just follow his instincts, closing his eyes and letting himself enjoy it. He bobs his head up and down, taking as much of Isaac into his mouth as he can, which feels like a lot, but in reality he’s pretty sure he’s only about halfway there.

His tongue starts to loosen up, licking at Isaac, which actually really improves the taste but he’s also having an excess saliva situation. He tries to rub at the corner of his mouth but it doesn’t help so he pulls back, wiping it with the back of his hand while he pants.

“How do people in porn do that for so long without getting spit everywhere?” he asks.

Isaac lifts his head to look at him, dark eyes and open-mouthed smile that make Stiles want to climb on top of him. “I think you’re watching the wrong porn.”

Stiles looks behind himself, considering the laptop, but then he shakes his head, dismissing the idea.

“It’s okay,” Isaac tells him. “Come up here.”

“I’m not done,” Stiles tells him. “Can you please just not come in my mouth. I am not physically or emotionally prepared for that.”

“Sure,” Isaac says, looking amused. “I’ll let you know.”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees. He tugs at Isaac’s hand that’s laying idly at the base of his dick. “Fingers in hair are good. Just FYI.”

Isaac grins. “Duly noted.” He strokes his hand through Stiles’ hair and then lets it drop down, propping himself more upright. “Hey, can I take my jeans off? I’m really sweaty.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, reaching down to pull off Isaac’s shoes. Isaac shoves his jeans and underwear down to his knees, Stiles tugging them off the rest of the way. He looks at Isaac, naked from the waist down, his T-shirt riding up to show his stomach, and he looks so utterly debauched that Stiles can barely stand it.

He lets out a shuddery breath, dipping his head forward again, and as his lips close around Isaac’s dick, Isaac’s fingers slide into his hair, massaging his scalp. He hums his appreciation, feeling Isaac’s body tighten under him in response. His confidence grows, taking Isaac in a little deeper, but then he gets over ambitious and nearly chokes himself so he decides to back off a little. He rests a hand on Isaac’s hip, thumb stroking over the bone as his tongue swirls around his tip, and it feels like everything is connected.

He can feel Isaac leaking over his tongue, can taste the sharpness, can hear the little whines in Isaac’s throat that he’s never heard before. It drowns him in sensation, moaning around his dick, and Isaac’s fingers tighten in his hair painfully. Stiles looks up at him, seeing the effort it takes for Isaac to unclench his fingers.

“You might need to stop.”

Stiles pulls his mouth back, disappointed but also so incredibly ready for someone to be touching him, he doesn’t even care if he has to do it himself.

“Your scent is absolutely everywhere,” Isaac says, exasperated.

“Well, yeah,” Stiles agrees. “It’s my room.”

“Yeah, but…” Isaac trails off, panting. “You jerk off here,” he says, looking at the bed. “It’s very overwhelming.”

Stiles frowns. “You can smell that?”

“C’mere,” Isaac tells him, sitting up as his hand trails over Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles uses Isaac’s thigh as leverage as he gets to his feet, more than a little light-headed. He unfastens his jeans, shimmying his way out of them before climbing onto the bed, naked. Isaac pulls his T-shirt over his head and Stiles pulls him closer, wanting to be covered by him, weighed down, surrounded. They manage to arrange themselves, Isaac nuzzling at Stiles’ neck, groaning.

“These pillows are going to kill me.”

“They will when I put them over your head,” Stiles tells him.

Isaac grins against him, licking his neck.

“What do they smell of?” Stiles asks, curious.

Isaac lifts his head. “You,” he says simply. “Pure, sleepy, you. It’s ridiculously intimate.”

Stiles nods his head. “Do you want to write a sonnet about it or have an orgasm?”

Isaac’s eyes sparkle with amusement and maybe arousal. “Orgasm. Definitely orgasm.”

“Shut up then,” Stiles tells him, pulling him down into a kiss.

He loves the fluidity of it, tongues and hips sliding together. Stiles doesn’t let himself dwell on the effect he apparently has on Isaac. He doesn’t dwell on the fact that this has become so instinctive, that they’ve learnt each other, that they’re so in sync with one another. That all feels like a lot right now, he can’t deal with someone else’s emotions on top of his own, and so he concentrates on the sensations, gripping Isaac tightly as he rubs against him.

He comes with a gasp, nothing but the friction of the tight space between them. He whimpers as it shudders through him, pulling out of the kiss but not away, his mouth moving uselessly with words he can’t even comprehend. He can feel Isaac’s orgasm through every inch of him, his muscles straining under Stiles’ touch, legs shaking as it splatters wet over Stiles’ stomach. Stiles arches upwards, kissing him again, no tongues, just lips fitting together between ragged breaths until everything finally stills.

Isaac rolls off him, sprawling out beside him with a sigh. Stiles reaches out to the nightstand, grabbing a couple of tissues and passing them to Isaac before he gets some to clean himself up.

“Thanks,” Isaac says.

He drops the tissues down on Stiles’ stomach when he’s done, Stiles grimacing at him before balling them up with his own and tossing them in the waste bin by the bed. He turns onto his side, facing Isaac, feeling like he should say something but he has no idea what. Isaac reaches out, trailing his fingers up and down Stiles’ forearm before closing his fingers around it.

“Pain’s gone,” he says.

Stiles looks down at Isaac’s fingers still holding him. “I guess it has,” he agrees. He’s been so distracted lately, he barely even noticed how much better he was doing.

Isaac drags his fingers away with a sigh. “I should go.”

“Right,” Stiles says, ignoring the pang of something like regret. “Are you okay to get home?” he asks as Isaac climbs over him, retrieving his clothes.

“I’m going to the woods to meet Scott,” Isaac dismisses. “He text me when we were on the way here.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. “Is there a body?”

“You think I would have stopped for sex if there was a body?” Isaac asks, fastening his jeans.

“Probably,” Stiles responds.

“Yeah, probably,” Isaac allows. He shakes his head. “He’s just doing some recon with Kira and Malia. My guess is he wants me there to distract the third wheel.” He pulls his T-shirt on.

“Can you pass me my phone?” Stiles asks. “It’s in my jeans. I need to text my dad so he can turn the alarm on.”

Isaac looks amused, fishing it out and passing it to him. “You can’t get out of bed and do that yourself?”

“I don’t know the code,” Stiles says. “That way I can’t turn it off when I’m sleepwalking and get out of the house.”

“And into a coyote den,” Isaac says.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, trying to push aside the memory.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Isaac tells him.

“Have fun,” Stiles responds.

He climbs under the blankets, shaking a sleeping pill into his hand and swallowing it down. When he hears the front door close behind Isaac, he presses send on the text to his dad, snuggling into his pillow and knowing that he’s safe.

When he gets to school the next day, he sees the pack sitting at a table outside. He hops out of the jeep, heading over to join them.

“Find anything last night?” he asks as he sits down next to Malia.

“Nothing,” Scott says. “Not even footprints.”

“Did you check along the stream?” Stiles asks.

“Me and Kira followed the stream,” Scott tells him. “Malia showed Isaac all the hiding spots she knows.”

Isaac leans conspiratorially across the table towards Stiles. “Third wheel duty.”

“I haven’t even been able to pick up a scent,” Scott says.

“Bitch is like a ghost,” Malia agrees.

“That’s what the dog’s for,” Stiles tells them. “If I can ever find it.”

“Isaac said you didn’t have any luck either,” Scott says.

Stiles sighs, shaking his head. “I’ve been thinking, I’m going to go on a road trip this weekend,” he says. “If I leave first thing on Saturday and come back Sunday night then I can cover more ground and get to the shelters I couldn’t reach in an evening. If we don’t get this dog by Monday, we’re screwed. I’m willing to give up my weekend for that.”

“I’ll come with you,” Malia offers.

Isaac sits up taller in his seat and Stiles can see the animal instinct to appear bigger in order to intimidate.

“ _I’m_ going to go with him.”

Malia chuckles. “Down, boy.”

“You have to stay here,” Stiles tells him. “If anything happens, you and Scott have the best control of your powers, you can deal with it.”

Isaac looks irritated, knowing that Stiles is right. “Whatever,” he mutters, glaring at Malia as he slumps in his seat.

“We’ll try and work out a plan B while you’re gone,” Scott says. “Deaton’s still trying to come up with something.”

Stiles nods, feeling a little better knowing that everyone has a role, that they’re dedicated to working this out.

Convincing his dad that this is a good idea is another matter. Stiles knows the hell he’s put his father through lately, the times he went AWOL, the things the Nogitsune said with his face. He’s been extra protective of Stiles since he got him back for real, and even though he’s tried not to show it, has tried not to smother him, Stiles has seen the reluctance to let him out of his sight.

Asking to go away for a whole weekend where he could get into any kind of unimaginable trouble was never going to go down well. Stiles isn’t really asking though. This is a necessity.

“Anywhere would be safer than Beacon Hills,” he tells his dad. “No Nemeton. No Ciguapa.”

Stilinski frowns, clearly conflicted. “There’s no one else that could go?”

“Dad, they all have more important things to do,” Stiles says, exasperated. “Would you rather I stay here to battle a supernatural creature and probably get eaten? I can’t do that. But I can do this. Maybe it’s all I can do.”

Stilinski stares down at the table top, his posture defeated, and Stiles can’t stand it. He hates how much he’s let them all down, but this is the way he can start to make up for it.

“I’ll take my drugs and I’ll drive the speed limit and I won’t talk to any strangers,” he promises.

Stilinski looks up at him with a wry smile. “I believe one of those things.”

“And I’m taking my own personal werecoyote,” Stiles says. “I’m going to be fine.”

Stilinski nods. “Speaking of, how’s that love triangle going?”

Stiles gives him a weary look, wanting to slip beneath the table. “There’s no love triangle,” he insists, wondering at the fact that his mind goes straight to Isaac. He wonders idly what his sheets smell like now. He shakes it off, looking at his dad. “You gonna be cool with this trip?”

“I have to be,” Stilinski says, words full of resignation. “You’re doing a good thing.”

“I want to do only good things now,” Stiles tells him.

Stilinski reaches across the table, putting a hand on his arm. “You always did.”

Stiles heads to bed early, hoping the sleeping pills will be mostly out of his system by the time he needs to get up the next day. He doesn’t want to have to deal with that hangover when he has such a long drive ahead of him.

He grabs his pillow, along with the bag he packed the night before, and goes downstairs to find his dad already up, having breakfast.

“Are you going to eat?” he asks as Stiles walks past.

“I’ll grab something on the way,” Stiles dismisses, wanting to be on the road already, wanting to be in motion. He feels like it might do something to calm his anxious energy.

There’s a knock at the door and Stiles drops his things down on the couch, wondering if it’s Malia. She already told him to pick her up at the end of her street. Maybe she’s decided to just come here.

When he opens the door, he finds Isaac instead. He frowns as Isaac invites himself inside, Stiles automatically closing the door behind him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to see if you needed anything for your trip,” Isaac says casually.

“Like what?” Stiles asks, still staring at him.

Isaac shrugs. “Do you want to borrow my scarf?” he offers, lifting up his fingers to touch the material that Stiles knows is soft, taking a step forward in the small space.

“No, I don’t want to borrow your scarf,” Stiles says.

“Okay,” Isaac responds softly, taking another step forward so that he practically has Stiles pinned against the wall.

Stiles knows what’s coming, even if he’s slightly annoyed by the assumption on Isaac’s part. Isaac tilts his head, edges closer, and Stiles lets his eyes slip closed as he leans back against the wall. Isaac presses against him, gently at first, joining their mouths together. Stiles reaches up, cupping his face and pulling him a little harder. Isaac responds with a growl, pushing forward with his hips to pin Stiles against the wall, Stiles putting his other hand on Isaac’s shoulder to steady himself.

Isaac parts his lips, tongue seeking admittance, and Stiles manages to tease him for about two seconds before he submits, leaning his weight back against the wall with a sigh. He has to admit, he loves being kissed, loves Isaac’s strength, loves how, when he closes his eyes, nothing exists except this.

He tilts his head back as Isaac kisses him deeper, feeling a flush all over his body. Isaac’s hands seem to be everywhere, hot and demanding, running over his clothes, carding through his hair. He reaches down, grabs hold of Stiles’ thigh and lifts it up, pressing their hips more firmly together. It puts Stiles at an awkward angle, forced unsteadily onto his tiptoes with the one foot that’s still on the ground, his leg pulling uncomfortably. He backs out of the kiss.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh,” Isaac says dumbly, his lips red and shiny.

“You can’t lift up just one leg,” Stiles says.

“Oh, right,” Isaac says, realisation seeming to come over him, and then he reaches for the other leg as well.

“ _Do not_ lift me up,” Stiles warns him. It’s far too romance heroine and he’s really not about to play that role.

“No?” Isaac asks meekly, paused halfway through the movement.

Stiles just shakes his head. Isaac sheepishly puts Stiles’ leg back on the floor, straightening up as his feet shuffle him backwards.

“Sorry,” he says. “I was just trying something.”

“I get it,” Stiles assures him.

Isaac’s eyes are downcast and Stiles reaches up, stroking his cheek. Isaac looks at him and Stiles slips his hand around to the back of Isaac’s neck, pulling him down for another kiss. It’s slower, deeper, Isaac moving back in close as Stiles all but melts under him. After a moment, Stiles reluctantly pulls away.

“I have to go,” he says in the small space between their mouths.

“Yeah,” Isaac agrees. He brushes his lips against Stiles’ once more before he steps back, Stiles’ arm falling down to his side like a dead weight. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll probably be back late,” Stiles tells him. “I’ll catch up with you guys on Monday.”

Isaac gives a little nod that looks nothing like an agreement. “Good luck.”

Stiles sees him out, closing the door behind him and then turning to see his dad leaning out of the kitchen doorway.

“That’s the boy you don’t like?” he asks, clearly struggling to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Stiles agrees curtly, going over to retrieve his things.

“Okay,” Stilinski says, stepping into the room. “So what do you do with the boys that you _do_ like?”

Stiles gives him a weary look. “I’m going now.”

“Please be careful,” Stilinski tells him, turning serious. “You happen to be irreplaceable.”

“That’s so sappy that my brain can’t even process it,” Stiles tells him, gesturing vaguely at his head.

Stilinski slaps him on the back. “Get out of here.”

Stiles throws his things in the back of the jeep, heading over to Malia’s. She’s waiting at the end of the street like she said, arms crossed over her chest and bag at her feet. She wouldn’t look out of place as a surly runaway teen. He pulls up beside her and she hops in, tossing her own bag into the back with Stiles’.

“You saw Isaac this morning?” she asks, but Stiles is certain it isn’t a question.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“Did he just rub himself all over you?” Malia asks.

“Pretty much,” Stiles responds, Isaac’s motives solidifying in his head. It wasn’t just needy hormones and petulant jealousy. Isaac was claiming him. Stiles really isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“I think he’s jealous that I got there first,” Malia says.

“Got where first?” Stiles asks.

“To your virginity,” Malia states.

“Oh,” Stiles says, feeling himself blush. He really doesn’t know what to say to that so he decides to change the subject. “Your dad was cool with you doing this?”

“Yeah, he was cool with me going on a roadtrip with Lydia,” she says pointedly.

Stiles nods. “Hence me not coming to your house.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Malia says.

“That’s what I used to think about my dad,” Stiles says.

“Well, I’m not ready to tell him I murdered his wife and kid or that I had sex in a mental hospital just because I felt like trying it out,” Malia says.

Stiles looks at her. “You just wanted to try it out?” he asks haltingly, the thought somehow tainting the experience for him.

“You always sound so wounded when this comes up,” Malia says, giving him a look.

“No,” Stiles dismisses.

“You didn’t feel like trying it out?” Malia asks.

“Yeah, I definitely did,” Stiles admits. “I had done for a really long time actually. A really long time. Several times a day.”

“Me too,” Malia says. “But I’d only just gotten a body I could explore it with.”

“Right,” Stiles says, his mind going down a rabbit hole of sexuality stuck in the body of the wrong species. “Can coyotes… with themselves?”

“There are ways,” Malia shrugs.

“Huh,” Stiles considers. “You never… with another coyote, right?”

“That’s disgusting,” Malia says.

“Good,” Stiles says. “I’m glad you think that’s disgusting.”

Malia throws him an appalled look.

“I was just checking,” Stiles says defensively. He stares out at the road, remembering the way it felt to be in that basement. “It was more than that though,” he says. “Us. It was about companionship and feeling real and just having someone there. And I don’t mean having _anyone_ there. We were going through something. We went through it together. It feels like that’s important.”

“It is,” Malia allows, her voice smaller and more genuine than Stiles thinks he’s ever heard it.

Stiles nods. “Also, FYI, I _did_ tell my dad about it.”

Malia looks at him. “Why would you tell him that?”

“We were sharing,” Stiles says.

“That’s oversharing,” Malia responds.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Stiles agrees. “I’m kind of struggling with boundaries lately.”

“I get that a lot,” Malia says.

Stiles can’t help but smile at her.

It’s a long day full of failure, but the rate at which they fail means they get to check out two more shelters than Stiles planned before they close for the evening. He tries to count that as a win. He needs something to cling to.

They grab dinner at a tiny diner in the middle of nowhere which serves surprisingly good food and then find themselves a motel for the night. Stiles tosses his bag and pillow down onto the first bed, throwing himself down afterwards with a groan.

“I can’t believe you brought your own pillow,” Malia says, sitting down on the other bed.

“I take it everywhere,” Stiles says. “I can’t sleep without my pillow.” He sits up, reaching for his bag and pulling out his books.

“You brought homework?” Malia asks.

“I have a history assignment due,” Stiles says.

“Isn’t your history teacher married to a kitsune?” Malia points out. “I’m sure he’d understand if you told him what you were doing.”

“Are you just going to sit there and pick me apart?” Stiles asks, laying out his books as he moves onto his stomach.

Malia shrugs, grabbing the TV remote from the nightstand and sitting back on her bed. She flicks through the channels as Stiles starts to read over his notes.

“What the hell are these channels?” she asks.

Stiles looks up at the screen as she keeps scrolling through. “Looks like mostly public access.”

“Ugh.” She turns the TV off, looking at Stiles. “Is there any chance you’d want to make out?”

Stiles feels himself blush, his heart beating too fast in his chest, and he wonders if she’s worked out that she can hear it yet. “Oh, uh,” he stammers.

“Are you just into boys now?” Malia asks.

“No,” Stiles insists. “I mean, I _am_ into boys. I’m absolutely into boys. But I am absolutely still into girls.”

Malia nods knowingly. “But right now, you’re absolutely into Isaac.”

Stiles looks down at his notes, trying to hide whatever his face is doing. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” he says honestly.

“Really?” Malia asks. “Because you seem like you put far too much thought into everything else.” She gets to her feet, stretching her arms above her head. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees, still staring down at his notes. She’s right, he analyses and second guesses everything, but he’s always shied away from this. He wonders what scares him about it so much. Is it specific to Isaac, this irritating thorn in his side every time he tried to put a plan together, or would the thought of being close to anyone right now make him this uneasy?

He hears the shower start up and glances over to see the door still open. “Humans close the door,” he yells across the room. There’s no response so he rolls his eyes, crossing the room and slamming the door shut.

He settles back on the bed, sending his dad a text to let him know he’s still alive and hasn’t been kidnapped or possessed. He focusses his attention on his assignment, barely noticing when Malia comes out of the bathroom in her pyjamas. She lies on her bed, turning the TV back on, the background noise not as big a distraction as it should be. He actually kind of likes the company.

When his phone rings, he assumes his dad has picked up his text and needs to ask him a million questions or maybe he’s driving out there to get him right now. When he looks at the caller ID, he sees Isaac’s name though. He hesitates for a second, not ready to deal with him being weirdly clingy, but he has to admit, he does want to answer. He drops his pencil onto his notes, connecting the call.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Isaac returns. “What are you doing?”

“Working on a history assignment,” Stiles says.

“Oh,” Isaac says. “What’s Malia doing?”

Stiles looks up at the screen in front of him. “Watching something truly terrible.” He turns to face her. “What is this?”

“I have no idea but I hate it,” she responds.

“Huh,” Stiles says, looking idly back down at his notes. “What are you doing?” he asks Isaac.

“I just got back from the woods with Scott and Kira,” Isaac says. “They hold hands and constantly look like they want to kiss each other like it’s a romance novel.”

“Yeah, it’s sickening,” Stiles agrees. “Did you find anything?”

“No,” Isaac sighs. “No tracks, no scent, nothing.”

Stiles frowns. “Why has she gone so quiet?”

“Maybe we’re scaring her off,” Isaac says. “A bunch of supernatural beings stomping on her turf isn’t going to make her come out looking for her next victim.”

“Keep stomping then,” Stiles tells him. “Until I can get hold of this dog.”

“No luck today?” Isaac asks.

“Big load of nothing,” Stiles agrees.

“You have another day,” Isaac says. “You can do it.”

Stiles’ lips quirk into a smile. “Are you being helpful? What happened to the constant doom and gloom?”

“Things tend to work out,” Isaac says. “We always get the bad guys in the end.”

“So far,” Stiles agrees.

“Then let’s get the bad guys,” Isaac says.

“You don’t have any homework you’d rather do?” Stiles teases.

“Literally never,” Isaac responds.

Stiles smiles. “Okay, then.”

“Okay,” Isaac agrees softly.

Stiles nods his head, holding the phone to his ear, his other hand playing idly with the pencil, and there’s nothing else to say but he doesn’t hang up. He listens to Isaac breathing, wondering where he is, if he’s on his bed, if he just got in or if he’s ready to go to sleep. He doesn’t ask though, especially with Malia sitting right there.

He sits up, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his palm. “I should go.”

“Yeah,” Isaac says.

“Yeah,” Stiles echoes. “We’ll send word if we find the goddamn dog.”

“Good luck,” Isaac tells him.

“We’ll need it,” Stiles says.

He hangs up and looks at his phone for a moment before putting it aside, gathering up all his work.

“Booty call?” Malia asks casually.

Stiles gives her a look. “I’m going to take a sleeping pill and knock myself out now,” he says. “No offence.”

“Yeah, well, offence taken,” Malia tells him. “I’m already dying of boredom.”

“I can’t take it too late, I won’t be able to drive in the morning,” Stiles says.

“This is the worst road trip ever,” Malia complains. “I missed all the milestones, I just wanted to have some fun.”

Stiles considers her. “When this is over, I’ll take you on a real road trip,” he says. “We could all go. No agenda, just enjoy ourselves.”

Malia huffs. “That doesn’t mean I forgive you for this one.”

Stiles reaches for his pills. “It’s better I take this than kill you in your sleep.”

“Skinny little you?” Malia asks. “I don’t rate your chances.”

Stiles tips a pill out, swallowing it down. “Let’s not find out.”

He wakes to his alarm the next morning, trying to find his phone without opening his eyes so he can shut it off. Waking up is too hard. It’s always too hard. As much as he loves that sensation of warmth and darkness that immediately follow the pills, and the nothingness that follows, waking up is like clawing himself out of a grave into stark, painful sunlight and it seriously makes him reconsider things. Luckily, that feeling is long gone by the time he has to take another one.

When he manages to prop himself up in bed, looking blearily around, he sees Malia buried under the blankets and her pillow. He considers her for a moment and decides to let her sleep for a while. He needs to shower.

The water helps to wake him up, or at least feel more human. He gets dressed and takes his Adderall, before going to the vending machine and getting an energy drink. He decides to get one for Malia as well, taking it back to the room.

“Hey,” he calls as he closes the door behind himself.

There’s an unintelligible grunt from under Malia’s covers.

“We should get going soon,” Stiles says. “I want to get to the next shelter when it opens.”

Malia groans, throwing the pillow and covers out of the way to glare at him through her messy hair. “You didn’t tell me you snored,” she says accusingly.

“I don’t snore,” Stiles insists.

“You really do,” Malia tells him. “Like an old man with a chest infection.”

“Do I?” Stiles asks meekly. He holds up the drink apologetically. “I got this for you.”

“You are the worst road trip buddy ever,” Malia tells him, but she reaches forward, taking the drink.

They get back on the road for another series of disappointments. The fog lifts from Stiles’ mind, but he thinks he’d rather be blanketed in that than feel the full force of his increasing desperation. They’re running out of time and he can’t do this for another month. His life feels like a ticking clock that’s ready to implode.

They eat gas station food for lunch, Stiles not willing to stop anywhere for a meal, not with the outlook so hopeless. He needs to know that he travelled to every shelter humanly possible in the time that they have.

They reach the next shelter and Stiles has learned by now the best way to play this. If you go in there asking for a black and white dog with extra toes, firstly they’re freaked out by how specific that is, and secondly they wonder why the hell you specifically want a dog with a deformity and what you’re planning on doing with it. He doubts they’d believe him if he told the truth.

Now, he just says he’s looking to adopt a dog and makes small talk long enough to get into the kennels and check them out for themselves. He and Malia inspect every black and white dog they come across, trying not to look too obvious about it because they really need to be able to take this dog with them and if they start ringing alarm bells, they’ll never be able to walk out with it.

Most of the dogs comes to the edges of their cages as they walk through, jumping up and showing their paws, which makes their job easier. Sometimes they’re shy though, or outright scared, and Stiles always feels sorry for those ones. He hopes they find a nice home soon.

As they walk through he spots one of the scared dogs, a small black Labrador with white feet that makes it look like it has little shoes on and white markings on its chest. Stiles stops in front of the cage, trying to get a closer look.

“That’s Reginald,” the shelter volunteer, Mike, tells him. “He’s from a breeder but he was the runt of the litter and he was born with some imperfections so she dropped him off here.” He shakes his head. “If they’re not worth money, they’re not worth anything to those people.”

Stiles looks up at him. “What kind of imperfections?” he asks, trying to play it cool.

“He has extra toes on his front feet,” Mike says. “It’s rare in dogs but it doesn’t affect him, he runs around just fine.”

“Extra toes?” Stiles asks, his voice hitching upwards. “Can I see him?”

“Sure,” Mike says, slightly guarded.

“I, uh, I have extra toes,” Stiles says, trying to justify his excitement. “I feel like me and him would understand each other.”

Mike smiles, opening up the cage. Stiles steps inside, not crowding the dog, crouching down so he’s at his level.

“Hey,” he says softly. The dog lifts his head up and Stiles holds his hand out, letting the dog sniff it. He watches as the dog’s tail starts to wag and he gets up, cautiously moving closer. Stiles tickles him behind his ears, the dog becoming more animated, pushing his head against Stiles. “Okay,” Stiles says, going in with both hands to pet the dog who promptly plops down on his side before showing Stiles his belly.

“Who would have thought _you_ could be an Alpha,” Malia says behind him.

Stiles smiles, getting a look at the dog’s paws. Perfectly imperfect. He feels his heart swell, looking up at Mike. “Can I take him?”

“There’s forms,” Mike says. “We have to make a judgement.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles agrees, feeling himself sweat at the prospect of losing this.

Mike sighs. “No one’s shown much interest in him after they find out about his paws,” he admits. “You two seem like you’d be a good fit.”

“Peas in a pod,” Stiles agrees eagerly.

Mike considers him for a moment. “Come to the office with me.”

Stiles grins, petting Reginald one last time before stepping out of the cage, allowing Mike to lock it. He turns to Malia. “Call Scott. Let him know.”

Malia nods, taking out her phone. Mike looks at Stiles.

“Scott has extra toes too,” Stiles says. “We met in a support group.”

“I don’t have extra toes,” Malia calls down the corridor towards them.

Stiles sits down in the office and Mike helps him fill out the forms. Stiles tells him about his living arrangements, about the preserve that’s perfect for long walks, about the fact that he’s active and would make sure the dog got plenty of exercise. Mike seems satisfied with that, signing off on the paperwork, and ten minutes later they’re walking out of there with a Ciguapa hunting dog.

It’s a long drive home, but Stiles is wide awake and excited. Malia falls asleep in the passenger seat, delicate and not snoring, and the dog sleeps in back, a little less delicate, a little more nasal. Stiles feels warm and safe and content, following the signs back home.

He wakes Malia up when they get to the end of her road, letting her walk up it alone so she can go and tell her dad about her weekend with Lydia. The dog wakes up too and Stiles calls him into the front seat with him, tickling his ears as he watches Malia go out of sight. He knows she can take care of herself, if he even tried to help in a crisis he’d undoubtedly get in the way, but he feels the protective need to watch her anyway. It’s what friends do.

The dog settles down beside him and Stiles looks down at him fondly. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.” The dog rests his head on Stiles’ thigh. “Sometimes I feel like the runt too,” he says. “But sometimes your imperfections can be exactly what someone needs.”

He sighs, his mind straying to Isaac, and maybe that was what drew them together. Imperfections. Stiles has plenty of them. He looks at the clock. He’s back earlier than he thought, but it can still wait until tomorrow. Everything can wait until tomorrow. He looks down at the dog.

“Come on, Reggie,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

He pulls up into his driveway, putting Reggie’s lead on and grabbing his bag and pillow from the back. “Hey dad,” he calls as he opens the door. “I made a new friend, can I keep him?”

His dad comes out of the kitchen and frowns at him. “Why is the dog here?” he asks wearily. “I thought you were taking it to the animal clinic.”

“But he’s my friend,” Stiles says, throwing his things down onto the couch. “I can’t just leave him there.”

Stilinski gives him a seriously unimpressed look. “I did not agree to this.”

“His name’s Reginald, but he’s cool with being called Reggie,” Stiles tells him, refusing to acknowledge his negativity. He knows how to get around his dad. He crouches down in front of the dog. “Right, Reggie?”

Reggie jumps up at him, nearly knocking him over.

“Is he even housetrained?” Stilinski asks.

“I don’t know,” Stiles admits. “I didn’t ask. He’s been at the shelter for a while though so they probably trained him, right?”

Stilinski gives a frustrated sigh. “Stiles…”

“He was so excited that someone wanted to take him home,” Stiles says earnestly. “Nobody wanted him. And he likes me.”

“Yeah, well, dogs like everyone,” Stilinski dismisses.

“Not true,” Stiles insists. “They like good people.”

Stilinski’s face softens and maybe Stiles is just the broken boy who might be fixed by a puppy now, but he’ll take it. “He can stay until after the full moon,” Stilinski relents. “Then we’ll talk.”

“Thank you,” Stiles grins.

“And if he pees on anything, it’s coming out of your allowance,” Stilinski tells him.

“Deal,” Stiles agrees.

He gets an old blanket from the closet, making a little bed for Reggie in his room. He’ll get a real bed for him when he gets the chance. He’ll get him anything he wants.

The next day at school, he meets the pack outside before classes start.

“How’s the dog?” Malia asks.

“I was tempted to bring him to school and claim he was a therapy dog,” Stiles says. “He actually seemed pretty chill about me leaving him though.”

“Things that are neglected come to expect it,” Isaac says. “They learn that making a fuss doesn’t change anything.”

Stiles stares at him. “Why is everything out of your mouth so horribly depressing?”

“Not everything,” Isaac says pointedly.

Stiles nods. “Because we always catch the bad guys, right?”

Isaac smiles at him. “So let’s catch the bad guy.”

“Tonight,” Scott agrees. “We have everything in place now. We can do this.”

Malia looks between them and then turns to Kira. “Do they always sound like a cliché teen movie?”

Kira shrugs. “You get used to it.”

Stiles tries to concentrate on his classes for the rest of the day, he’s still trying to get things back on track and he can’t let it slip now, but it’s difficult to focus on anything other than the terror and responsibility of what’s coming up tonight. The stakes are too high and Stiles doesn’t know how long he can keep doing this. He entertains a brief fantasy about his dad becoming the sheriff of some little town where nobody’s a werewolf and nothing tries to kill him, but there’s certain things that you can’t unknow and there’s no way he’s turning his back on this now. 

When he gets home from school at the end of the day he heads straight upstairs, telling his dad he’s doing homework. In reality, he sits and he goes over every bit of information he has about the Ciguapa, making sure it’s committed to memory. He rubs at his temples, looking down at Reggie on his blanket.

“I hope this is all accurate,” he says. “You have a lot of expectations on your little shoulders tonight.”   
Reggie gets up, putting his paws on Stiles’ leg and wagging his tail, demanding a head scratch. Stiles smiles. “Yeah, I used to think this was exciting too.”

He meets the others at the preserve when the full moon is high in the sky, cutting through the darkness. It’s something he doesn’t find very comforting any more.

He holds tightly to Reggie’s lead as he gets out of the jeep, not sure if he’s being protective or if he wants Reggie to look after him. “Time to see what you can do,” he says as he approaches the others.

“He looks like he has a similar attention span to you,” Isaac comments, considering the dog that’s currently trying to jump up at Malia.

“He can do this,” Stiles insists. “Give him a chance.”

“So we just follow him?” Scott asks.

Stiles shrugs. “I guess. It’s the one thing all the sources agree on.”

“Let’s go walkies then,” Lydia says.

“When we find her, nobody look into her eyes, that’s how she entrances her victims,” Stiles tells them. “If you’re under her spell then you’re giving her power and that’s what we want to take away.”

“Got it,” Malia says impatiently. “Don’t make eye-contact with the crazy lady. That’s a general rule in my life anyway.”

“Just stick together,” Stiles says. “Look out for each other.”

“We do,” Scott assures him. “That’s always the deal.”

Malia turns to Isaac and Kira. “How do you put up with this?”

“You’re a pack animal, deal with it,” Stiles tells her. “Let’s just go.” He loosens Reggie’s leash to give him a little more room, stepping towards the trees. “Come on, Reggie. Find a me a Ciguapa.”

Reggie begins to walk and Stiles follows, his friends flagging him, staying aware of anything that might be around them. Stiles thinks he should feel safe, but really he’s just in the middle of trouble all over again.

Reggie leads them deeper into the woods, occasionally sniffing the air and then changing direction. Stiles just lets the leash pull him along, feeling like he’s the one on reins. The ground is uneven and the air is cold and the moonlight’s makes too many shadows. He has a bad feeling about this. He wonders if they can all hear how fast his heart is beating. Lydia leans in close to him, making his skin prickle up.

“How does he know what he’s looking for?” she asks.

Stiles shrugs. “Maybe they have an affinity.”

“He could be following a rabbit,” Lydia says.

“I’m good at following rabbits,” Lydia says. “It’s not a rabbit.”

Stiles looks at her and then turns back to Lydia. “I don’t question your _feelings_ , do I?”

“I’m a banshee,” Lydia says. “That’s a dog.”

“Well if you have a better idea,” Stiles says, his voice rising.

“Guys!” Scott whispers harshly.

Reggie stops and Stiles looks down at him before following his gaze. There’s a woman stood in front of them with her back turned. She has long hair down to her knees that shines in the moonlight, and backwards feet. Stiles can tell that she knows they’re there, that she’s weighing up her options. Reggie starts to pull on the leash but Stiles tugs him back. This doesn’t feel right.

The Ciguapa starts to turn, slowly, and Stiles can feel the dread climbing up his spine. He knows this feeling. Nothing good ever follows it. She looks at them over her shoulder and Stiles knows that she’s a siren, that she seduces men to their deaths, but somehow he never expected her to be so beautiful. So ethereal. He feels something give inside him, like a string has been wrapped around his soul and is tugging him forward. And that’s when he realises he’s looking in her eyes.

“Uh,” he says helplessly, even as his bones go molten. “I have a problem.”

“You told us not to look at her!” Lydia states, exasperated.

Stiles would think of a witty comeback, but he feels like his head fills with white light and he’s pretty sure he could glide right to her.

Then everything snaps away and Stiles blinks, coming back to his surroundings, and it’s all cold and stark and scary. He knows that feeling too well, the feeling of being real again after having done a very bad thing. The world isn’t supposed to look like this to him anymore.

His breath shudders, lifting his eyes to realise that Isaac is stood in front of him, shielding the Ciguapa from his view, protecting him. Isaac growls and the Ciguapa lets out a shrill, birdlike shriek in response, worse than Lydia’s scream. Stiles shies away, covering his ears, and then the Ciguapa turns around, running into the woods.

“No,” Stiles says hopelessly. “We have to…” But the world is tilting, his chest tightening so that he can’t get in anything other than a desperate gasp. “I messed it up. I ruined it. I’m so stupid.”

“Stiles,” Lydia says softly.

Isaac turns to face him, eyes still glowing, and Stiles reaches out, taking hold of his hand. Isaac looks down for a moment before squeezing his fingers and Stiles is finally able to take a breath, his eyes damp with tears.

“We have to go after her,” he says, even though he can still feel himself shaking.

“You and Lydia should go wait in the car,” Isaac tells him. “We’ve got this.”

“No, I have to…” Stiles insists.

“You don’t,” Isaac says. “Give me Reggie. He’ll help us track her down again. We’ll take care of this. You set it up for us. Let us see it through.”

Stiles nods his head. That sounds reasonable, even if it still makes him feel like a failure. He looks around. “Wait, you can’t just leave us in the woods.”

“Reggie took us in a circle,” Lydia tells him. “The car’s less than two minutes that way.”

“How do you even know that?” Stiles asks.

Lydia holds up her phone. “GPS. You think I’m going to just stumble around in the dark and trust a dog not to get me lost?”

“Go,” Scott agrees. “We can move faster than you and we know how to take her down.”

“And how to not upend your own plan within seconds,” Stiles says.

Isaac squeezes his hand. “We don’t have time for you to feel sorry for yourself. Give me the dog.”

Stiles looks up at him and he knows that he’s right. He hands over the leash, keeping hold of it while he looks Isaac in the eye. “Please look after him. If he gets eaten, I won’t get over it.”

“Trust me,” Isaac says.

Stiles nods. “I do.”

He hands over the leash, stepping back and watching as Reggie pulls, eager to go. Isaac runs with him, the others following, and Stiles wraps his arms around himself, feeling that chill that plagued him when he first got rid of the Nogitsune. It’s just a cold night, he tries to assure himself. He turns to Lydia who’s looking at her phone.

“Which way?”

“Follow me,” Lydia smiles, holding out her elbow. Stiles links arms with her and lets her lead the way.

She’s right, they’re not far from the cars as all. Stiles unlocks his jeep and they both climb inside. He feels his body sag, the tension turning into something else as he buries his face in his hands.

“I can’t believe I jeopardised this whole thing. I mean, I can believe it, because it’s me.” He lets out a frustrated noise. “I should have stayed out of the way, all I do is make things worse. I told myself that I was done with this, humans don’t belong in a pack, but I couldn’t help myself and look what happened.”

“Stiles,” Lydia says firmly. “You’re the one who worked out what this thing was. You’re the one who found the dog. Those dumb werewolves would still be chasing their tails if it wasn’t for you.”

“They don’t have tails,” Stiles mutters. He sighs, looking up at her earnestly. “I’m always the weak one.”

“So maybe we’re the ones who wait in the car while the violence happens,” Lydia says. “I’m fine with that. I don’t want to be breaking a nail. You think we don’t belong because we can’t beat anything up? We’re the brains of this operation. Let them go do the heavy lifting with their supernatural powers.”

“You have supernatural powers too,” Stiles points out.

Lydia shrugs. “I always was an overachiever.” She looks at Stiles. “Do you want to hold hands for a bit?”

“I think I’m okay actually,” Stiles responds, feeling a little warmer for it.

“Good for you,” Lydia says brightly.

Stiles nods. “I just need to sit here and make peace with my mediocrity.”

Lydia snorts a laugh. “You need to make peace with the fact that you’re anything but.”

Stiles lets that thought settle in his head for a moment. Maybe that’s the root, the thing he needs to finally be done with. If he can believe in his own place in all this, can believe he’s earned it and deserves it and is adding something meaningful, maybe all the noise will finally slip away. He is not the things the Nogitsune did. He’s the one who solved the mystery, who brought them all here, who put this in place.

If no one gets hurt, if they get this right, then maybe he saved the day. It’s a big _if_ but their lives will be dangerous regardless of his actions. He gave them the best chance of success. That has to count for something.

He looks over to see Lydia pulling a tablet out of her purse. She turns it on, the light from the screen illuminating her face.

“The bestiary?” he asks.

“Mmmhmm,” Lydia agrees.

Stiles leans closer, looking at the strange words. “Is the Ciguapa in there?”

“No,” Lydia says. “I just like to read it.” She looks up at Stiles. “Maybe we should add it. Make our own page.”

“My archaic Latin is a little rusty,” Stiles says dryly.

Lydia gives him a look. “We can write it in English.”

“Sometimes my English is a little rusty too,” Stiles says, watching as Lydia swipes to the next page. He wonders if Isaac has surrendered it fulltime to her now. “Can I see Allison’s selfies?” he asks.

Lydia looks up at him. “Sure,” she says softly.

She navigates out of the bestiary, opening up the gallery and handing it to Stiles. Allison is smiling at him, bright and unguarded. It gives him that sucking, empty feeling in his gut. She didn’t deserve this. None of them deserved it.

“She’s so young,” he says, scrolling through the photographs. “That sounds stupid, I know we’re the same age, but she’ll always be young.”

“Yeah,” Lydia agrees.

In some of the photos, Allison is smiling widely at him, in some she’s sultry, in some shy and vulnerable. It feels incredibly intimate to be looking through them and he has to stop, handing the tablet back to Lydia. She looks at the photograph on screen, a mirror selfie showing off a dress that Stiles guesses was new, and she smiles at it fondly before turning it off.

“It wasn’t fair,” Stiles says.

“Not fair happens to plenty of people,” Lydia says. “You don’t need the supernatural for that.”

Stiles nods, looking up at her. “She worked it out, right? How to defeat the Oni.”

“She figured it out,” Lydia agrees. “And she left us the weapons we needed to finish the job.”

“She saved me,” Stiles says. “That used to make me feel so guilty because I couldn’t save her. It didn’t feel like a fair trade. But now it feels like maybe it’s something I’m supposed to live up to. I have to at least try to do that.”

“You already are,” Lydia assures him.

“I like the investigating,” Stiles admits. “My mind doesn’t deal well with loose ends and unknown quantities. I thought I was doing myself a favour by taking that stuff off my walls, clearing my head, but I think I would have figured this out quicker if I had it all laid out for me.”

“I can see you following in your father’s footsteps,” Lydia says.

“I don’t know if I’d want to be a sheriff,” Stiles says. “Maybe a detective.”

“You should talk to Scott’s dad,” Lydia says.

Stiles gives her a withering look. “If I never talk to that guy again it’ll be too soon.”

Lydia looks behind him, shoving the tablet into her purse. “They’re back.”

They both climb out of the car, going to meet the group. Reggie tugs on his lead to get to Stiles who takes the leash from Isaac, crouching down to pet Reggie who jumps enthusiastically up at him.

“Well?” Lydia asks.

Scott gives her a nod. “Taken care of.”

Stiles looks up at him. “Are you sure?”

“It worked just like Deaton said it would,” Scott assures him. “We took her power. It’s over.”

Stiles nods, taking a deep breath and trying to believe it. Reggie licks his face and Stiles smiles at him.

“Is anyone else hungry?” Malia asks.

“Pretty much always,” Isaac agrees.

“My mom’s at work,” Scott says. “We could order pizza.”

They all head back to Scott’s house, sitting around the dining table, pizzas laid out between them. They talk about school and dates and what they watched on TV. They laugh and they tease and they share. It’s all so warm and comforting and _normal_. They could be any group of teenagers staying up too late on a school night right now. Stiles finds enormous comfort in that fact.

Malia starts talking about music and everyone gravitates towards the living room. Stiles makes a move to follow but Isaac hooks his foot around his ankle. Stiles looks across the table at him and Isaac just looks back imploringly. Stiles watches everyone else leave the room, settling back into his seat as he turns his attention back to Isaac.

“What’s up?”

Isaac looks thoughtful for a moment. “When you were freaking out over the Ciguapa,” Isaac says. “You held my hand. Lydia was right there, she was reaching for you, but you reached for me.”

Stiles plays it through in his head, the instinctiveness of it. “I guess I did.”

“Does that mean I’m your anchor?” Isaac asks.

“I think it just means you’re my boyfriend,” Stiles says.

“Oh,” Isaac says blankly. He considers that for a moment. “Okay.”

Stiles smiles with amusement. “Okay?” he says. “I’m not asking. It kind of already happened. I don’t think either of us got a say in it.”

“I could break up with you,” Isaac points out.

“You could,” Stiles agrees. “But you won’t.”

Isaac shakes his head, reaching his hand across the table towards Stiles. “I won’t.”

Stiles meets him halfway, twining their fingers together. Isaac rests his head on his outstretched arm, just staring at Stiles.

“You should stay here tonight,” he finally says.

“I don’t have my pills,” Stiles responds.

“Are we still playing that game?” Isaac asks. Stiles gives him a look. “You’ll be fine,” Isaac states, like it’s a fact, and Stiles almost believes it. “You really want to go home right now?”

“No,” Stiles dismisses, watching his thumb stroking over Isaac’s knuckles.

“Then stay,” Isaac says.

Stiles nods. “I need to call my dad.”

Isaac squeezes his hand before letting go, getting to his feet. He stretches, his T-shirt riding up, and Stiles is mesmerised by the strip of flesh that’s revealed. His eyes continue scanning upwards until he sees Isaac smirking at him.

“See something you like?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, busying himself with getting out his phone. Isaac heads through to the living room where music is now drowning out any conversation. Stiles’ dad answers his cell after two rings.

“Stiles?”

“Hey, dad,” Stiles returns.

“Is everything okay?” Stilinski asks.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Stiles tells him. “We stopped the Ciguapa, Beacon Hills is safe again. Well, for tonight maybe.”

“And everyone’s okay?” Stilinski prompts.

“Yeah, everyone’s fine,” Stiles assures him and he realises what kind of phone call his dad has been dreading all night. “I’m fine,” he adds for clarity’s sake. “We all came back to Scott’s for pizza. I was actually thinking I might stay here tonight if that’s okay.”

“At Scott’s,” Stilinski says, his voice carefully measured.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees.

“You mean Isaac’s,” Stilinski says.

Stiles feels himself blush. “It’s Scott’s house.”

“And you’re sleeping in Scott’s room?” Stilinski asks.

“Well, the sleeping arrangements haven’t really been finalised yet,” Stiles says.

“Stiles,” Stilinski warns.

Stiles sighs. “Do I have to come home?”

“No,” Stilinski tells him. “You just have to be honest with me about where you are and what you’re doing.”

Stiles nods. It’s really the least he can do. “Isaac’s my boyfriend,” he admits.

“Yeah, I think you’re the last person in the world to work that out,” Stilinski says.

Stiles slides down on his chair, incredibly glad his dad can’t actually see him right now. “So can I stay?”

“You can stay,” Stilinski agrees. “So long as you’re being careful. And smart. Can you read between the lines or do I need to spell it out?”

“Please don’t,” Stiles begs.

“And remember it’s a school night,” Stilinski says.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, his mind already pulling at another thread. “Hey, dad? You remember when I came back from the hospital and you stayed with me that night?”

“Yeah,” Stilinski says.

“Did I snore?” Stiles asks.

Stilinski hesitates. “I’m sure if he really likes you he’ll get over it.”

“Great,” Stiles mutters. “Thanks.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Stilinski tells him.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “Night, dad.”

He goes through to the living room as Lydia and Malia are saying their goodbyes. Once they’re gone, Scott turns the music down, he and Kira snuggled together on the couch, and Stiles is starting to feel like he’s intruding. Reggie is sat with them and Stiles wonders if he’s part of the pack now. He hopes he still gets to be Reggie’s favourite, even if he’s not a canine.

“So?” Isaac prompts.

Stiles looks up at him. “Oh, uh, yeah, it’s cool.”

“Cool,” Isaac nods.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. He looks at Scott. “I’m going to stay here tonight.”

Scott looks at Isaac and then back to Stiles, raising his eyebrows. “Okay.”

Stiles throws him a warning look, heading over to Isaac. He hesitates for a second and then takes hold of his hand and he likes the way that feels, something giddy bubbling up in him from having witnesses. That makes it real. “Let’s go to bed,” he says, moving towards the doorway.

“We’re going to have a conversation tomorrow,” Scott calls after them.

“Make me breakfast and we’ll talk,” Stiles agrees.

He keeps hold of Isaac’s hand all the way up the stairs this time. He likes the security of it, the intimacy. He likes being connected to Isaac, not in the way he needed Lydia to hold his hands through his panic attacks. This is a choice, and it feels all the more powerful for it.

Isaac closes the door behind them once they’re inside his room and Stiles tugs at him until their bodies are flush, fingers still twined together by their side as Stiles cranes up to kiss him. It’s soft, lazy, patient, and Stiles leans into him, Isaac’s hand going to rest at the small of his back. Stiles lifts his hand up, fingers grazing Isaac’s cheek, going to the back of his neck to pull himself closer.

Stiles parts his lips and Isaac responds, a flicker of tongue, the drag of mouths, deepening bit by bit until Stiles feels like he might go insane. It feels like knowing but also like learning, as though this is the first time it’s been something to build on instead of an instinct he can’t fight. This is something they can do over and over. They don’t have to rush to get to the point. This is the point.

Isaac pulls back, resting his forehead against Stiles’, his eyes closed as he catches his breath. Stiles plays his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, Isaac giving a little shudder as he opens his eyes to look at him.

“Do you mind if we just… sleep?” Isaac asks tentatively. “I’m really tired.” He shifts on his feet, adjusting his hand on Stiles’ back. “We can do something else if you want,” he adds quickly.

Stiles shakes his head. “Sleep sounds good.”

Isaac smiles at him, a genuine little smile that shows so much vulnerability. He shifts back slightly to look at Stiles properly. “Do you want to borrow something to sleep in?”

“Are you just trying to scent mark me?” Stiles asks.

“A little,” Isaac admits.

Stiles nods. “Okay.”

Isaac gives him something to wear, the material soft and worn in, making it seem all the more intimate. He sniffs at the collar, not able to discern anything, but he likes the thought of it anyway. To Isaac, and all the other wolves, it’s like being fingerpainted.

He turns to the bed as Isaac starts to pull back the covers and he feels his chest tighten, as though faced with an insurmountable task.

“I can’t sleep without my pillow,” he says, the pitch of his voice rising. “I probably can’t sleep at all without the pills. I don’t know if my body can do this on its own anymore. It was never very good at it to start with.”

“Just come lie down,” Isaac tells him, as though falling asleep is simply a question of mechanics.

Stiles rubs at his face, trying not to let the frustration take over. “Insomnia’s really lonely,” he says. “Even if you try and be productive, just knowing that you’re the only person awake. I hate it.”

“But you’re not alone,” Isaac points out. “I’m here.”

“I’ll keep you awake all night,” Stiles says. “With the tossing and the turning and the kicking my legs and getting up to pace around.”

Isaac shrugs. “Then we’ll be grumpy and sleep deprived together tomorrow.”

He makes it sound so simple and Stiles wants simple. He wants it more than anything. “Hang on,” he says, walking out of the room.

“Where are you going?” Isaac calls after him. “Are you leaving?”

Stiles goes to the top of the stairs, whistling down. “Reggie,” he calls. When he hears the dog jump down from the sofa, his feet clacking on the wooden floor, he heads into Scott’s room, grabbing the laptop off his desk. As he steps back into the hallway, Reggie comes to greet him. “Hey, boy,” Stiles greets, tickling his head. “Come on.” He grabs a spare blanket from the closet in the hall and goes back through to Isaac’s room.

Isaac looks up at him, confused. “What’s going on?”

Stiles tosses the blanket onto the floor. “You don’t mind if he’s in here, right?” he asks, patting the blanket for Reggie to climb onto. “I know I’ve only had him one night, but I like knowing he’s safe.”

“Fine by me,” Isaac agrees.

“Fair warning, he did jump onto my bed this morning and start licking my face,” Stiles says.

Isaac smiles at him. “Well, I might do that to you too.”

Stiles comes over to the bed, holding up the laptop. “Scott always has this logged into his Netflix account,” he explains. “Do you mind if we put a movie on or something? Keep me company if I can’t sleep. I can use headphones if you want.”

“We can watch a movie,” Isaac tells him. He climbs under the covers, motioning for Stiles to join him.

“I’ll put it on low,” Stiles promises. “So you can sleep.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Isaac assures him.

Stiles joins him under the covers, opening up the laptop. Isaac adjusts the pillows behind him so that he can prop himself up comfortably, settling down with a contented noise. Stiles considers him for a moment, already jealous at how straightforward he makes it look. Usually he just throws himself down in the middle of the bed, a haphazard arrangement of blankets and pillows, but he can’t do that here. He needs to find something that works for both of them.

He tries to mirror Isaac’s position on the other side of the bed but he feels restless already. He shifts his legs, turns onto his side, moves closer to Isaac and then further away. He punches his pillow and drags it closer to him, half hugging it before letting out a frustrated noise.

“Come here,” Isaac tells him, wrapping an arm around him and tugging him in close. Stiles kind of loves how effortless his strength makes the movement. He gets a warm feeling. That’s something he wants to play with. He wants to try out so many things.

Right now, he’s more than content to find himself pressed against Isaac’s side, his head resting on Isaac’s shoulder, his body warm and the arm wrapped around him secure.

“This works,” he agrees. He props up the laptop where they can both see it, opening up Netflix. “What do you want to watch?”

“Anything,” Isaac says. “You choose.”

Stiles picks out a comedy that isn’t going to challenge any braincells as Isaac reaches over and turns out the lights, leaving them with just the flickering light from the laptop. It feels cosy, Stiles snuggling closer into Isaac and letting himself relax. He doesn’t have to sleep, he just has to rest. It’s the insomniac mantra that’s always so hard to stick to as the hours count down to when you have to be up again.

“I can still get those chains for you if you want, by the way,” Isaac teases.

“If we stay like this, you’ll know if I get up, right?” Stiles asks, angling his head to look at him.

Isaac nods. “I’ll know.”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees, settling back down.

Within twenty minutes, Isaac is fast asleep. A little later, Stiles hears Scott coming up the stairs, the landing light turning off as he goes to bed. That’s when the loneliness usually hits the hardest, when everyone else is warm and safe in slumber, as though it’s a destination, and he’s stuck in this world that feels like it shouldn’t exist without witnesses.

He shuffles further down the bed, placing his head on Isaac’s chest and listening to his heartbeat. It’s strong and steady, something he can rely on. It helps the restlessness in his limbs, helps fight off the isolation of the middle of the night, and he wonders if Isaac is just a new drug he’s about to get hooked on. It might be too late for that though.

When the movie ends, Stiles clicks on one of the recommendations, not even looking at the synopsis. His eyes feel raw and scratchy, his brain quietened down, and he still wants to move but he lacks the energy or the inclination. Being here right now is good so he decides to stay here, decides to just close his eyes and see what happens.


End file.
